The Noble Petty, Complete Edition (Alutia Rising Series, Book 2)

by Craig Gerttula

  “Not now,” she whispered desperately as she pulled him deeper into the rising cloud

  “Where did they go? Someone stop them!” a guard shouted, the voice originating from where they'd just been.

  “Damn, where's my combat PDU!” Another, more irate voice followed.

  “Come, Trent, please,” Sasha begged Trent to move, and he reluctantly obliged. They crept through the dense cloud, finding a gap through the cordon of guards who had started to disband once the food had been distributed.

  Sasha realized that they were actually private guards, hired common mercenaries, by the uniform she'd glimpsed when Trent punched the second man and his robe had slipped open. She knew it was a common practice to use private guards to keep order in common or petty colonies, the vassal guards, like her Alutia Guard, ABF Battleguards, and ABF Arcguards, being reserved for protecting nobles and non-petty colonies. But these were more like prison guards, and treated the petties worse than any of the stories ever told.

  Someone will pay, the sprouting thought started to grow.

  “Over here!” a muffled, but familiar voice rose through cloud, off to her left. She pulled Trent with her towards the sound.

  “Come on! This the way!” Mi'Cil, the voices owner, urged as she appeared within the blinding dust. They followed close behind her, only able to see a few meters in each direction. The moment they entered the safety of the alleyways, a wind rose, clearing the cloud. Sasha almost tripped over one the piles of rubbish strewn just within, but was able to keep her balance and follow Mi’Cil, who weaved between the piles without pause.

  After a few quick turns, and fighting through alleys covered in waist-high filth, each with their own distinctly disgusting scent, they entered one of the domed buildings. But her relief was short lived, another inhuman stench, even worse than in the transport, overwhelmed her senses as soon as she entered. She collapsed to her knees, vomiting in a pile of decaying refuse which lay just within. A trembling hand massaged her back as she finished convulsing. She slowly climbed to her feet, still queasy, wiping her lips clean on her robe. Trent's face appeared through her teary eyes, supporting her weakness and showing he felt the same as her.

  On both sides of the entrance lay stairs that appeared to curve to the upper levels of the dome. Mi'Cil, having waited for Sasha to recover, ran past the stairs and through the propped open door that lay before them, waving them to follow. Reluctantly, she did, Trent stumbling in tow.

  Row upon row of tightly packed bunks, stacked floor to ceiling, filled the entire first floor. The cries of a hungry baby mingled with the moans of a dying man, and a screech of utter despair. They froze, but Mi'Cil urged them forward, between the bunks, unfazed by the piles of waste, passed what Sasha thought to be a dead body, the man's eyes empty, and the stench indescribable, then down another narrow corridor. They stopped in front of a section of almost empty bunks.

  “You don't mind sharing?” Mi'Cil pointed to the bottom bunk and climbed into the one just above. Sasha was unable to respond, still incapable of fully comprehending this unbelievable place she found herself, and the horrors she'd already witnessed within. Trent collapsed hard to the floor, hunching over as his back rose rapidly.

  “This is...” her voice trailed off as an aged man, or so she thought, his skin sagging off his bones like it was made of liquid, started coughing spasmodically nearby.

  “He be dead soon...I've heard that cough before,” said Mi'Cil, her voice indifferent, as Sasha took a seat beside Trent, checking to make sure his eyes weren't shut. Finding them open, but still slightly glazed, she ran a gently finger down his flushed cheek, letting the young girl's words sink in.

  This place, this whole place, is impossible, her mind screamed. These petties, these people, were being treated like slaves, no, less then slaves, like garbage, and suddenly Sasha's mind filled with horror. There were tens of millions of petty worlds throughout the NHA, where tens of trillions of petty men, women, and children might be treated the same.

  “I'll be having a talk with Yukie...” Trent hissed. Sasha stared at him and nodded to herself, I will be having a talk with her as well, and also father.

  “We don't have much, buts' you can have's a little,” Ci'Cil hopped down from the upper bunk, offering what little food he had.

  “No, thank you,” Sasha politely declined. The boy smiled, nodding his thanks, before climbing back up next to his sister.

  “Where are your parents?” Trent asked, his voice trembling from within his robes.

  “Dead. Dad got stung by a Mini and mom was killed by Jo'Mas when he came for me,” Mi'Cil let no emotion slip into her words. But Sasha felt tears caressing her own cheek, which she pushed against Trent's, her sorrow threatening to overwhelm her. Trent, sensing her need, kissed her lightly and wrapped his arms weakly around her.

  “Why don't you resist?” Trent asked, voice tense, words unsteady.

  “Most wait for the recruiters, but they don't come no more...so Hec'Ure said we need to take it back,” Ci'Cil froze as his sister hit him.

  “Hec'Ure said not to tell nobodies'!” she admonished her brother as the old man in the next bunk broke out in another spasm.

  “Recruiter? ABF?” Sasha asked, knowing that most ABF crewmen were, in fact, taken from the petty population.

  “Long time ago, yes, but another recruiter came, saying good jobs for all who want 'em,” Mi’Cil explained. The only recruiters should have been from the fleet, and Sasha wondered if this had something to do with the reason why Lady Vickie and Sir Georigi visited such a dangerous planet.

  “Can you take us to him, this...this Hec'Ure?” Trent asked, his voice having steadied, while climbing slowly to his feet. Sasha stood beside him, supporting his weight as he started to sag.

  “Yes we-,”

  “Ci!” Ci'Cil was cut off by his sister. “He said not to tell nobodies'!” Mi'Cil scolded angrily, but Ci'Cil just smiled from under his robes.

  “You saw, they be good! They took out them bad guards!” Mi'Cil looked at Ci'Cil, then Trent and Sasha, and seemed to resign herself.

  “Follow,” she jumped down from the bunk and started moving, then froze as a giant figure rose before her.

  “Jo'Mas!” she fell back in horror.

  “You,” Jo'Mas started, voice slurred, pointing at Sasha, his single eye twinkling. “I like you, you be Jo'Mos's women,” he pushed past Mi'Cil and straight at Sasha. Trent forced her behind him.

  “Leave or die,” his voice trembled, hiding barely controlled fury. Jo'Mas laughed and lunged forward, but Trent's combat armor fist moved quicker, striking the man in the nose with a deafening crunch. Jo'Mas collapsed, unmoving, blood pouring from the depression where his face once stood.

  A tear broke through Trent's watery eyes. “I'm sorry,” he whispered to Sasha. “He was a killer,” his sorrow crept over his face and filled his words.

  Their bond suddenly opened and she felt his inner turmoil, his despair at having to take another life. She tried force in her love, and acceptance, but the storm in his heart was just too strong, its vortex threatening to absorb her completely. So she turned his tear covered face to hers and kissed him deeply, grasping all her passion, all her love, and all her longing, and using their contact to try to quell the raging storm within him.

  “It is ok, my duke. You had no choice,” her love and words of acceptance seemed to ease his heart, the storm having passed. He nodded weakly as they stepped over Jo'Mas's limp form and followed the now whispering siblings.

  They exited the building and made their way through the trash filled alleyways. Sleeping, or more likely dead, petties littered many of the open spaces, some half buried in sand, skin almost completely gone. They pushed past an organized group collecting the corpses, obviously the disposal unit the guard mentioned earlier. It was a scene from a nightmare, and it was happening within her duchy, within her father's galaxy, unknown, or ignored, by the nobles and commons who lived comfortably far out of sight. It is unforgi
vable!

  They stopped at a wide thoroughfare, which extended beyond sight in both directions, its surface clean, groups of guards and hovering transports moving steadily in both directions.

  “Now!” Mi'Cil whispered excitedly as they sprinted across when it was clear. Sasha kept her head low, hoping the closest guards wouldn't recognize them. When they reached the far side, they found another narrow alley, which was much cleaner, with only small piles of debris and no corpses in sight.

  Their pace quickened, no longer being forced to climb through piles of refuse, and after another couple minutes, Mi'Cil and Ci'Cil finally stopped in front of a dome building built flush against the solid stone base of the shield wall. Lounging just outside the entryway stood two, nondescript robed petties, trying to act casual. But from the way they carried themselves, Sasha could tell they were trying to hide something. One stood and raised a hand as they approached.

  “Decidacle,” Mi'Cil said, her hands flashing a sign of three fingers over three fingers. The man lowered his arm, nodding as he pointed to the door. Sasha braced herself for the expected stench as they entered, but found this building nothing like the one they had previously visited.

  The smell of human waste, though still present, was much less overwhelming. Little trash could be seen littered between the larger bunks, the rows fewer in numbers, and the men and women who idled in small groups of a different look. Their robes appeared sturdier, covered with a strange reddish-green dust, unlike those of the previous petties they'd seen, and they're eyes shined with life as they glared in the direction of the newcomers.

  “Moss Miners,” Mi'Cil explained, having noticed her confusion. Sasha absently nodded her thanks.

  They made their way down the line of bunks, Mi'Cil and Ci'Cil nodding happily to everyone they passed. Suddenly, the bunks angled, blocking their path, silver crates stacked in such a way that all view of what lay beyond was hidden. But Mi'Cil seemed to expect it, leading them through tight, crisscrossing gaps, which Sasha would have never been able to navigate herself, before exiting into the center of the ground floor. A group of man sat around a small table in the hidden room, discussing something quietly, going silent when they noticed the new arrivals. The smallest man stood, relief evident on his weathered face as he ran a hand through his feathered, dirty brown hair.

  He walked briskly towards the children. “Mi'Cil, Ci'Cil! You be alive! I feared for you since you haven't come by to oft,” the man spoke peculiarly, like most of the petties, but with a slight slur.

  “Hec'Ure! They took out two of the bad guards!” said Ci'Cil excitedly, the man placing a kind hand on the boy's head.

  “Really...and how'd they do that's?” Hec'Ure looked skeptical, eyeing her and Trent warily.

  “The same way he be killin' Jo'Mas, by punching 'em!” Mi'Cil exclaimed, punching his fist at the same time. The man named Hec’Ure froze.

  “Jo'Mas be dead?” The children nodded vigorously. Hec’Ure stared at her and Trent for a moment, expression unreadable, then a big toothy grin appeared.

  “Good news, indeed! Sit my friends, let us find out who you bes’.” They followed Hec'Ure to the circle of moss miners, who made an opening on a homemade bench, a glass of fresh water provided to them both.

  “I'm Sa'ha and this is Tre'Nat. We heard you were a man who may be plotting something?” Hec'Ure showed his surprise, turning to the siblings, who both pointed at each other.

  He sighed. “Yes, but the armories the key and we cants' think of the ways' inside.” The man raised his hands in resignation. “So, though we plan...little we can actually do ‘cept waits and endures,” Hec'Ure explained, sipping a brownish drink and puckering his lips in a way that made her think it must be sour.

  “What is this plan?” Sasha asked. Hec'Ure took another sip, half a smirk on his leather-like face.

  “Its’ be simples. We knows’ all the guard points and withs’ the right weapons we coulds’ take the petty colonys’ in a matters of hours. The rests be a little more complicats’, but we'd take over the industrys’ and force the Baron to negotiates’,” Hec'Ure eyed her strangely. “But that be too simples, wouldn’ts’ its? So maybe I lies...maybe I don’ts’,” the minors laughed heartedly, Ci'Cil and Mi'Cil giggling from their spot on the floor just behind.

  “Promise me, you will only harm those who resist or wear the green of Hulk'Zif,” Trent's pained, command fueled voice surprised everyone, the laughter dying.

  “What do you mean, Tre'Nat?” Hec'Ure asked suspiciously.

  “I will provide you access to the armories as long as you promise me you will not harm innocents,” Trent's words were stronger as he pushed through the pain. The men looked at each other, then broke out in hysterical laugher.

  “Aye, aye...we can do that’s’ my friend. If you can breaks’ into the heavily forti'fieds’ armories...Aye, we'd agrees’.” Hec'Ure laughed as he spoke, thinking Trent was joking. But even though he wobbled as he looked at her, she knew he was serious.

  “Vin can handle the locks if I handle the guards?” Trent asked, eyes still glazed. She wanted to scold him, tell him not to once again place his life in danger. But she couldn't, wanting as much as he to help solve this injustice, make the baron pay for his heinous crimes.

  “Yes,” Vin responded, but only loud enough for her and Trent to hear.

  “We leave immediately. Have someone show me the way and be ready to collect the weapons. I may be able to get in, but I won't be able to hold it by myself,” Trent said. The men, a few tired laughs still escaping, started looking at Trent in wonder, then Sasha.

  “You not be normal Petties...who you bes’...reallys?” Hec'Ure asked. Sasha stopped Trent before he responded, knowing he may let slip the truth.

  “Saviors and friends. Trust us, Hec'Ure. If Tre'Nat says he can do it, he can do it. But remember your promise, no innocent blood must be spilt...do you still agree?” Hec'Ure stared at her, then to the men around him, who all nodded.

  “I can promise for me’s and my boys, but the rests’...they be angrys’...” his voice trailed off and Sasha knew why. It would be difficult to stop the slaughter once those who had been wronged took control.

  “We understand, Hec'Ure, and I know it will be impossible to stop all the needless bloodshed, but tell all you see, that petties shall be free, as long as the promise is upheld,” Sasha couldn't believe her own words, but Trent's face brightened, showing he was proud, proud of her, proud that she felt the same. The men laughed again, but this time not in mocking.

  “Free? That woulds’ be nice, Sa'ha, but I won'ts’ be gettings’ my hopes up. I will do as yous’ ask, thoughs’, and keep the mobs under controls,” agreed Hec'Ure with a wide smile. Sasha nodded, running a hand down Trent's cheek. He will need to rest, after they escape, after they free the petties.

  “You twos! Mi'Cil's and Ci'Cil's...you remembers’ the way to the armories?” The two children stood with a simultaneous nod, finishing their water in a single gulp. “Show these twos’ the ways’, and we will be follows’ behind, trying not to drag attentions,” Hec'Ure stood and Trent extended a hand. The man looked at him, confused, then did the same. Trent grasped it and shook it once. Hec'Ure stared in wonder, eyes twinkling.

  “A custom of my dead homeworld, for good luck,” Trent spoke weakly. Hec'Ure laughed a single laugh

  “I likes’ it, keeps’ your bargains, Tre'Nat, and I shalls’ keeps’ mines,” the man laughed again as he struck Trent's back with a thud and turned to his fellows, who started running in all directions.

  Sasha took up her place at Trent's side and they started following the siblings, who lead them out of the building and back into the crisscrossing alleyways. Surprisingly, they only had to pass through a few before they came across a large metal door, about 15 meters wide by 25 meters tall, sunk into the stone base of the shield wall. Sasha knew immediately something important lay inside, six robed guards from the garrison, not the private guards who they had seen earlier, with combat arc
s at their sides, lounged in a pile of sand next to the door. A small PDU protruded from the stone wall adjacent to the door, probably for emergency access if the local BAP was offline.

  “Sasha...stay behind until I take out the guards, then return to my side,” Trent's voice turned metallic, hidden under the hood he had pulled over his face. The siblings stared at him in wonder. Sasha nodded reluctantly as she activated her own combat armor, the liquefied gorian expanding over her head and hands. The siblings both fell back in surprise.

  “What are you?” their voice's squeaked in unison.

  “Your saviors...now stay back,” she whispered sternly as she turned to watch Trent leap forward, running at a speed only made possible with the use of the power assisted combat armor.

  Laser arcs appeared in both his hands and he shot two guards at point blank range before they could even react. The others were too stunned to moved, allowing Trent time to fire two more shots before one of the men brought his combat arc to bear. But Trent was too quick, smashing the large combat arc out of the man's hands and throwing him hard against the stone wall. The guard slid down slowly, a trail of blood telling his fate.

  Sasha moved, feeling a euphoric mix of fear and exhilaration as she sprinted across the 20 meters to Trent's side. She pressed her helmet against his in a sign of a kiss, or so she thought, and activated the PDU adjacent to the door. As she feared, it was encrypted.

  “Vin, can you open it?” The door slid open without a response and Trent, who had pilfered a combat arc, charged through first. Two guards in robes sat lounging behind a desk PDU next to another large door in a room that stood barely 20 meters deep, barring their way. Trent shot the first while he ran up to the second, knocking him lightly on the head.

  “He was warm,” Trent's metallic tinged voice sounded strange, but still caused her to smile. This was the man she loved.

  The next door slid open and they found themselves in a large armory. Racks of packed combat armor and combat arcs covered the walls, while the smaller laser arcs filled the racks that ran adjacent. Box shaped combat transports sat lined up in the middle of the armory, with large cannon arcs mounted on each side of their roof, ready for action at moment's notice. She stumbled when she noticed a rack of weapons she didn't recognize, each shaped like an elongated cylinder, similar to the combat arcs, but with three times the diameter, and over twice the length, or about 3 meters long.