“Stay with me,” Nix said, trying to maintain his calm. “Stay with me.”
24
The Spouter Tavern, Sector Fourteen, Garuda Colony
The glyphs on the eight-sided dice danced as it rolled along the table, finally settling on the bifurcated spiral symbol. A muscular Dinari slammed his fist on the thick wood, sending a number of circular cards flying and leaving the slightest indent behind on the table. He then reached into his fitted blue vest and retrieved four Ansaran Rooks from an inner pocket. The Dinari’s mercantile outfit was only occasionally seen in the colony and far fewer on Garuda wore the blue garments common only in the Rumanian colonies. The other player shook her head and snickered.
“I don’t think so,” she said with a mollifying voice, “I don’t care what you use on the inner colonies, but out here we deal in favors.”
“You can’t invent rules after a match has begun.”
She nodded to the barman and the muscular merchant turned his head to follow her gaze. The barman pointed to the sign above the wooden bar.
“House rules,” the bartender said gruffly.
The Dinari slunk back in his chair and huffed.
“Fine, what do you want?”
The woman eyed the merchant’s pockets hungrily, her bony features becoming more and more apparent despite her comely robes.
“Did you bring any Rumanian spices in your latest haul?”
“Enough for the spires,” the merchant said with a shrug.
With a smirk, she replied, “I’m talking about your private stores.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms and avoiding eye contact.
“Here I was told I was sitting across from a proud smuggler of the inner colonies. What self-respecting smuggler doesn’t skim a little from the top?”
“One who likes his head attached firmly to his body. If I don’t deliver, the Loruks will—”
“I can think of a more involved favor if you wish.”
The muscular Dinari thought hard for a moment and then relented, “Fine. Sector Twelve hangars in an hour. Docking bay three.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled.
“I can already taste the caldamum on my tongue.”
Her opponent stood, appearing to be formulating a retort. When he failed to do so he shoved his Rooks back into his pocket and stormed out of the tavern, the door’s bell jangling as it slammed behind him. The dozen or so bar patrons had reduced their raucous volume to a whisper just long enough to see what the commotion was about. Moments later the din was restored to its full clamor.
In a nearby booth a cloaked figure shook his head and sighed. The young and their squabbles, he thought. His mind quickly drifted back to the task at hand. His contact was late. He was never late.
He tapped one claw against his glass of ale, listening to the clink and imagining he was somewhere far away, perhaps one of the beaches of Navis. So few were left untouched by the war. The distant planet was nearly covered by water, save for a few chains of islands and a volcano which rose several kilometers above the unending ocean. It had been spewing bits of its core for as long as he’d been alive and the island it created grew every day. If the Ansaran terraformers intended to create a proper colony there anytime soon, they ought to have thought of a faster method. The few dozen floating cities which populated the surface were never meant to be permanent, but then again, neither was much of Garuda Colony.
The Dinari took another sip of his ale and savored the bitter blend as it coated his tongue. The bar’s door creaked open, its bell jingling, but difficult to hear over the many voices which polluted the air around him. He turned his eyes and regarded the hooded Dinari standing in the door frame. After a slight wave he returned to his ale.
His contact slid into the booth opposite him, his face obstructed by shadow. The tavern’s dim orbs were covered with a layer of grime which clouded their brilliance, making the shadows all the darker. By the play of the orb’s light he finally made out the breathing apparatus his contact normally wore, a byproduct of a brush with the Phage as a child which left him with corrupted lungs.
“Elder,” the man said, his murky voice as chilling as ever.
“You needn’t use such formalities here,” Elder Bartle replied, gesturing to the bar’s boisterous occupants and finishing off the last sip of his ale.
The elder’s contact nodded under his hood and asked, “Why was I summoned?”
“It’s time. Zega’s paranoia regarding the Corsairs is our way in.”
“Go on.”
“He trusts my counsel. I can get him away from the colony for a short time. Long enough for your people to make their move and restore this colony to its rightful leadership.”
“And what of the Ansarans?”
“The Ansaran High Council supports this course of action and are willing to cede the Caretaker’s position to a Dinari.”
“Why would they give up this colony? Why remove one Dinari for another?”
“Zega’s reckless. They want someone who will bring back peace. Even a delicate peace. As long as they control the colonies, they don’t care who resides in the spire. But, the High Council underestimates us. We’ll give them peace for a while. Now is the time to establish this colony as a foothold which will lead us back to our rightful place in this system.”
“This isn’t what I expected.”
Elder Bartle slid his glass out of his way and leaned over the table.
“This is what we discussed, have you forgotten? There’s no going soft now. Things are already in motion.”
“How do you plan to get Zega out of the colony?”
“His recent fascination with the Corsairs and the power they hold. I told him I could make one.”
“Impossible,” his contact retorted, “The beasts of legend are gone from this realm.”
“Are they? Regardless, it makes no difference. I would die before I let him wield such power. We have the numbers and we only need him gone for a few hours. Make the preparations, we move at dawn.”
Elder Bartle slipped out from the booth and retrieved his gnarled staff which was leaning against its side wall. The timeworn Dinari supported himself with the shaped wooden cane and shuffled brusquely toward the exit.
•
Elder Bartle took his time as he meandered down the sandy path. The powerful winds always sapped his strength. After one hundred and ninety-eight years, most of which spent near the rough outer colonies, his body was worn-out and fragile. Despite this, he had resolved to see two hundred Ansaran years, a number which few Dinari ever saw.
The colony was quieter than usual, even accounting for the late hour. Zega’s minions no longer had to work in the shadows which meant they were free to harass whoever they wished in the light of day. Elder Bartle seldom worried about such things. When a Dinari reached such an advanced age, few would dare give them any grief. Respect was implicit.
Elder Bartle had only walked one block from the bar when he saw it. In the alley something silver glittered in the moonlight. The side street was shrouded in darkness, but Elder Bartle could make out a single lump of a person huddled against one of the clay walls. He didn’t want to stop. More than anything Bartle wanted his sleeping pad. His neighbor had just stuffed it with grass from the lakeshore and it was softer than it had ever been.
The hunched mass weighed on his mind. In his youth he’d been a doctor. Sometimes he still served that purpose, in a sense. Bartle sighed and moved into the alley. There were times the elder wished he was not so virtuous; times he wished he was more selfish. His mind drifted to Zega and he quickly brushed off the notion. There was honor in virtue. Elder Bartle always did what needed to be done. Such was his reputation, and not unduly earned.
The elder approached the cloaked figure and used his cane to tap its side.
“Are you hurt, friend?”
There was no reply. Elder Bartle sighed and used his staff to help lower himse
lf to his knees beside the figure. He pulled down the hood of the cloak and gasped. The Dinari’s face was warped, worn raw over his chin and up over the bridge of his nose. His golden eyes had begun to lose their shimmer and were propped open in death. Around his neck was a silver pendant, the seal of an ancient Dinari house stamped into its elongated curves. The bifurcated spiral of the glyph nearly brought tears to his eyes. Elder Bartle sat back in the packed sand and shook his head in horror.
If his contact lay dead before him, who did he meet in the bar?
“For a man without proper lungs, he fought pretty hard,” a muffled voice said from behind him.
Without turning, Elder Bartle replied, “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Who you’ve just murdered?”
“Orders are orders, Elder.”
The elder turned his head so he could make out the hooded imposter. The man unbuckled the mask from his face and let it drop to the sand where it was almost immediately covered by the swirling dust.
“You,” Bartle said, “I should have known he’d send you.”
The imposter brandished a long, curved knife, adorned with the kind of gems seldom seen by common men.
“I respect you, Elder. That’s why I’m going to make this quick.”
25
“What do you think?”
“It’s hard to say, she’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Take some of mine.”
“Even then...”
“We have to try.”
“Grab the medical crate. Time is a factor.”
•
Cargo Bay, The Garuda
The bright lights upset her eyes as she woke. Someone was holding a glowing orb up to her face, the swirling specs within dancing to their own song. She might have thought it beautiful if she were in a better mood. The pounding in her head was only second to the agony in her leg.
“Keep still,” a voice said.
She brushed the orb aside and groaned.
“Keep that out of my face or I’ll shove it so far—”
“Hey, she’s back from the dead,” a woozy Ju-Long mumbled.
Saturn turned her head toward the sound of his voice and let out another, far more despondent groan. Ju-Long sat against a crate, a tube leading directly from his arm to hers, slowly creeping crimson. His face was pallid in the light of Nix’s orb. Confusion skulked in the background of her every thought.
“What happened?” she asked, bordering the line between exhausted and livid, “The short version.”
Nix replied, “The Garuda frightened off the Kashas, but not quick enough. For a moment there—well, we all thought—”
“How much longer do I have to be hooked up to this?” Saturn asked, reaching over and touching the thin tube in her arm.
“You know,” Ju-Long said, thinking aloud, “Think of how lucky you were. It’s ten thousand light years to the next guy who could have given you blood. You should be a lot nicer to me now that I just saved your ass. O-Neg to the rescue,” he added groggily.
Saturn regarded Nix, her eyes begging for a reprieve. He smiled at her and stood.
“Not much longer now,” he said. “I don’t know how much more Ju-Long can give.”
Ju-Long grinned wide, eyes hopping around the room in a muddled manner.
“I have to at least hit the halfway point, then Saturn would be half Ju-Long,” he said with a devilish countenance. “That’s right Saturn, there’s no getting rid of me now.”
“Kill me,” Saturn pleaded with Nix, only half-joking.
Nix shook his head and then braced his back with one hand. She’d seen the beast swat him more than ten meters into a stone wall. He stood there hunched in pain a moment longer before steeling himself and lifting himself up straight, his spine cracking in several places as he did.
“Rest now,” Nix said, “Astrid’s plotting a course for Rumani and it’ll be weeks before we reach it. I’ll whip up a batch of Leguma; the Nerva Plant should help your wounds.”
Nix eyed her bloody leg, stuffed with crimson gauze and sutured with a rough stich. He added, “However slightly.”
Ju-Long absently raised one arm and cheered, “Leguma!”
Saturn tried to laugh and let out a cough instead.
“Look at us, we’re falling apart.”
She looked to Ju-Long, his hands still wrapped in makeshift bandages and cradled on his lap in front of him. The crew truly was a mess.
Nix smiled and replied, “I vote Astrid take the lead on the next mission. It’s her turn to get mauled by something.”
“Hey, watch it,” Ju-Long warned him before relenting and smiling back. “Well, I’d like to see something try.”
•
One Week Later
Saturn leaned on a crude crutch which was cobbled together from pieces of scrap metal. She took a hesitant step forward, putting as little pressure on her right leg as she could. It had taken her several minutes to wander through the corridors and the cargo bay. On a ship as small as The Garuda there weren’t a lot of places to hide. The brisk air made her legs prickle with goosebumps. Ju-Long had cut a pair of pants into shorts for her so he would have easier access to clean her wounds.
She approached the galley and propped herself up with one hand on the door frame and the other gripping her crutch.
“Look who it is,” Ju-Long said enigmatically, rising from his seat at the kitchen’s lone table. He motioned toward her leg and continued, “I didn’t think you’d be walking so soon.”
Saturn pointed to the crutch with her left hand.
“Well you’ve really outdone yourself this time,” Saturn said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Ju-Long raised his hands defensively.
“Hey, I work with what I’ve got, no need to be grouchy.”
Saturn noticed the bandages on his hands were gone. Ju-Long’s right hand was still pink from the chemical released by the pilot’s tooth, and his left bore several small scars from the Ansaran’s vicious bite.
“Sorry,” Saturn said, taking small, measured steps toward the table.
When Ju-Long moved to help her she waived him off.
“It feels good to move.”
He nodded and sat down on the opposite side of the table. Saturn moved cautiously to her seat and let herself plop down a little more forcefully than she’d intended.
“Let’s see it,” Ju-Long said.
Saturn unwrapped the brown cloth around her right thigh. It was an absorbent material which was far softer to the touch than anything the Dinari usually produced. When she reached the end of the wrapping she wasn’t sure if she wanted to pull off the rest. How bad could it be, she thought. The Kasha flashed in Saturn’s memory. Bad. It could be very bad.
Gingerly, she pulled off the rest of the bandage, bits of skin coming with the dressing. Though several stitches held the wound together, most of it was scabbed over and in the healing process. Then why did it hurt so much?
“That thing’s claw scraped against your femur but it didn’t break it, it just slid to one side. I guess that’s lucky.”
“It hurts like hell.”
“Nix removed a few fragments of bone that he found and then stitched you up. Most of the skin damage was helped along with Nerva plant, but some of the tissue damage was pretty deep. It’s going to take some time.”
“How long until we reach Rumani?”
“About two weeks,” Ju-Long replied.
Saturn gave a halfhearted nod.
After a moment of silence, Ju-Long crossed his arms on the table and said, “You know, Nix filled us in on what happened down there.”
“Did he?” Saturn muttered, finding it difficult to focus on anything but the pain in her leg.
Ju-Long leaned over the table and crossed his arms, using his elbows to prop himself up.
“None of this feels right. There are things at work here that don’t make any sense.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for starters, those beasts o
f legend, or whatever we’re calling them now, were supposed to be wiped out with the rise of the Corsairs.”
Saturn nodded, gazing at her wound from every conceivable angle with interest.
“Clearly not,” she said.
“Everything Nix seems to know about the Corsairs is a lie. I’m not sure that anyone knows the truth anymore.”
Saturn could feel her temper begin to rise.
“What Nix and I saw down there was the truth. It wasn’t packaged in a neat little bow, but the truth was there for the taking. What we saw in the desert was the truth as well. Beyond that...”
“What do we do about it?”
Saturn’s eyes landed on his.
“We keep searching. On that moon I saw a Dinari merge with a ship to become a Corsair. Several months ago I saw Liam do the same. There’s got to be a way to get him back. I know it.”
Ju-Long averted his eyes at the mention of Liam’s name. A movement Saturn didn’t miss.
“What is it? What do you know?”
“It’s nothing. Really.”
Saturn felt a spurt of rage begin bubbling toward the surface within her chest.
“Spill it,” she seethed.
“It was what happened on the surface. Astrid and I brought the new sensor array online and saw those things cornering you and Nix. When we tried to take off, something stopped us.”
Saturn squinted her eyes, taking in everything Ju-Long said and doing her best to process despite the itching pain she felt in her left.
“Go on.”
“The Aether conduits turned red, like they did in the desert. The ship flew itself.”
Saturn’s eyes fell to the floor.
Ju-Long continued, “There was a message on my console.”
Saturn perked up, “What did he say?”
“At first it was just random letters and symbols, but then it told me to ‘Sit tight.’”
“Liam,” Saturn breathed.
“That’s not possible, is it? Astrid still doesn’t believe it, and neither did I. Not until Nix mentioned the other Dinari and The Kasha. This is becoming too weird.”
The Lost Corsair (The Corsair Uprising Space Opera Series Book 4) Page 10
