"No!"
"Yes. Then she giggled and took her blouse off. We were cheering as she got up on the bar and . . ." Viktor stopped and rubbed his chin as he stared at the consoles on the security locks.
"And what?"
His smile morphed into a concerned frown. He tapped his fingers against all the security displays. "Hmm."
"What? What is it?"
"Rav, what time is it?"
He dug his communicator out of his pocket and read the time from the screen. "2:56. Why?"
Viktor went pale. "Someone entered this room at 2:49."
Rav jumped as two gunshots rang out from behind the heavy door. "Nemo!"
"Dear God! Please tell me Nemo had a gun." He frantically began unlocking the system.
"He has a derringer I gave him, but I don't think he had it with him. Get the door open!"
"I'm working on it."
The door finally slid open. Rav pushed past Viktor and rushed into the room where purple plasma was leaking out of the shattered deionizer tube, covering the floor. Smoke rose from the control console that sparked where it had been smashed to pieces. The robotic parts and bundles of wire were scattered around the overturned tables and cracked bookcases.
"Nemo!" Rav ran to the tube and dipped his hands into the numbing plasma. "Where is he? He's gone! Viktor, my son is gone!"
Viktor bent over to pick up two spent shell casings. He held them up in the light. "These look familiar?"
"The same caliber as Nemo's pistol."
They both spun around when a rasping cough came from behind the large desk in the corner. Viktor clambered across the debris to peer over the top of the metal desk. "Uh, Rav? I found our intruder."
As soon as Rav saw the blond man in a black suit with a red mask on his face sprawled out in a lake of dark blood, he knew. "Red Mask. It's a clone."
"Want me to finish him off?"
They needed information. "No. Get him stabilized so we can ask him some questions. I have to find my son."
"Good idea. I'll have Olaf take him to the hospital where he will be under constant surveillance."
"But how did he get Nemo out of this room? He would have had to go through the house. There are no windows in here."
Viktor called Olaf on his communicator as he pointed to the tool closet. "Check there, Rav. Olaf, I need your help in my work room immediately."
As Viktor spoke with Olaf, Rav cautiously stepped over to the metal closet and pulled the doors open. He instantly threw his hands in the air. "Put the gun down. Just put it down."
The pale naked boy's hands shook violently as he held the pistol, aimed directly at Rav's face. He was curled up in the bottom of the closet with his knees drawn up against his heaving chest. Sticky plasma was clumped in his matted blond hair. "Daddy!"
Rav took the gun then picked his traumatized son up in his arms. "Are you okay?"
He nodded his head and buried his face into his father's chest as he cried. "I woke up and . . . and the man was there. H-he smashed the tube and pulled me out."
"Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?"
"No. He tried to take me, but I jumped out of his arms and found my gun in my jeans pocket. Daddy . . . I shot him. I shot him two times. I didn't mean to kill him."
"I know. He's still alive. We're going to take him to a hospital so we can interrogate him. While it's on my mind, I need to check your feet." He picked up Nemo's skinny legs and looked at the soles of his feet. He set the boy down. "All clear. We're good. As long as Red Mask didn't hurt you, then we're good. Go ahead and get dressed. I'm glad you're feeling better."
Viktor ended his call then turned to them. "Nemo, you're safe. Thank God for that. Is he hurt, Rav?"
"No, I don't think so. He's just shaken up." Rav helped button Nemo's pants. "I want to get him home. Can you take care of Red Mask and all the hospital details without me?"
"Actually, I was thinking about how lonely it is here. I have empty rooms. Many empty rooms, actually. You and Nemo could have one of them. We could convert one of the guest bedrooms into an art studio for Nemo. I don't have a wife or children . . . or friends. So it would be great."
"You're sure?" Rav asked, feeling uncomfortable with the entire idea.
"I don't want Nemo living in that dump. Before you applied for an apartment, that entire building was set to be demolished due to the awful conditions there."
"That's really not necessary." He watched the servants enter the room where they began tending to the Vance clone's injuries and preparing him for the ride to the hospital. "Nemo and I are used to surviving in much worse. We're just grateful to have a roof over our heads."
"I insist. You're family. More than that, I want to help with the bigger picture."
"The bigger picture of what?"
Viktor waited until the Vance clone was carried off on a stretcher before moving closer to Rav. "I want in."
In? In with what? Where was he going with this? What did he think Rav did? "I don't know what you think I'm involved in, but you've got the wrong guy. I'm not a drug dealer or anything."
"Not that. The revolution. You're a Red Sand Rebel. Your name has been completely erased from the internet. Do you realize what a feat that is? But with money, there are no ends to what I can find out. I know that you and Camille were working with Biromians, Azimandians, and humans from all over the universe to fight against Tirlmayn. You were trying to save everyone. You're a hero. Your piloting skills are superb. A hero like you deserves much better than that dump of an apartment. Stay here and let me help with the rebellion. We can get it up and running again. We will recruit members and use my basement as a meeting place. I know there are plenty of people across Darkshot who want to take a stand and fight for freedom."
He scoffed. "You're insane. I'm going home."
"No, wait. Please. Why won't you let me join? Why can't I be a rebel like you?"
Rav squatted down to let Nemo climb onto his shoulders then stood back up and headed to the door. "Because the rebellion is done. It's over. They're all dead. I saw their bodies in a mass grave on Star-World Delta. They had been strung up and shot in the head. They're gone. It's over."
"And Camille?"
"Dead."
"And that Australian man?" Viktor asked, wiping the Vance clone's blood onto his pants. "The one that the clones are of? Tirlmayn's son?"
"His name was Vance. Vance Trainor. He was my best friend. He was like a brother to me."
"The drug-addicted boy from the Under City?"
Rav sighed and patted Nemo's knees. "The same. Now he's gone too. Face it, Viktor. The revolution is over. We failed. Now my life must be used to keep my son safe for as long as I can until Tirlmayn eventually invades and overtakes all the human colonies. There's nothing I can do. Come on, Nemo. Let's get you home and into a hot bath. We'll get that plasma out of your hair. Thank you for your help and hospitality, Viktor. I will be in touch."
* * *
"I warned you not to leave Prince Aveni down in that pit for too long!"
The guards stood at attention in the burgundy and gold throne room, their pale skin glistening with sweat under the chandelier that held sparking balls of blue electricity. They flinched as their leader's voice boomed across the empty room.
The pudgy one ran his gloved hand over his green twisted horns as he meekly spoke. "Warlord, we were only following your orders. You said-"
Warlord Tirlmayn stood from his golden throne below the intricate banners of Azimandia. He glared down from below his massive blue horns at Vance, who was still wearing only his boxers and was covered in slime from the pit. "Do you two warbringers see the man on his knees in front of me? This man . . . this boy . . . is my one and only son. Yes, I instructed you to leave him in the pit with the other prisoners, but not to let him die down there. How often did you feed him? How often did you check on his health? Tell me."
The two guards glanced at each other then they looked down at the polished floor below their boots. Th
e green-horned one spoke again. "We . . . uh, we didn't."
"You didn't what?" Tirlmayn asked, raising a thick eyebrow.
"We didn't feed him or check on him, warlord."
Warlord Tirlmayn's burgundy cape glided across the steps as he made his way down to Vance then stopped and placed his muscular hand on his son's messy hair. "Eighteen days. For eighteen days, you left my son, your future warlord, to die. You starved him and neglected him in the freezing weather. Look at him. His weak little half breed body is falling apart. He is starving to death, he appears to have frostbite, and he is filthy beyond belief. Is this how you would treat me?"
"No, warlord." They answered in unison.
"Then how could you do this to my own flesh and blood? Stand, my son."
Vance obeyed silently then gasped when his boomerang was pressed into his hand, the purple plasma already glowing around the edge. What was going on?
"Kill them."
His mouth went dry and his dizziness surged to new heights. He met eyes with the two guards who knelt at his feet to accept their punishment with dignity and absolute submission as they had been trained to do. Why did Tirlmayn want him to kill them?
"Go ahead, Aveni. Show them the force of the empire. Show them that they should think before they neglect their prince, before they insult me. Slice their heads off and we will place them on the fence around the warbringer training yard to use them as examples."
Vance only wanted to sleep. "I'm too weak, warlord."
"That's why you have the plasma. It will take very little force to slice through their necks. Stop stalling and execute them. Are you not angry? Do you not hate them for leaving you in that pit without proper clothing or food? They left you there to suffer and starve. Do this and I promise to release your friends from the pit and give the crippled boy all the medical and psychiatric care he needs."
That spark of hope was enough to make up Vance's mind for him. He would gladly kill two evil Azimandians in order to help Lucas. He raised his arm in front of the first soldier then closed his eyes as he sliced the plasma edge through the warbringer's neck. There was a dull thud as the severed head and the twitching body hit the throne room floor.
The second warbringer backed away from Vance, his eyes wide as he glanced over at his dead friend. "Warlord, have mercy. Call him off. Tirlmayn, don't! Prince Aveni, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Don't-"
Vance threw the boomerang at him, sending the glowing edge cleanly through the Azimandian's stomach. The two halves of the body fell to the floor and remained still. He expertly caught the weapon as it flew back to him. Then he dropped to one knee in his sheer exhaustion.
"I will bring in an emergency medical team to tend to you immediately. You have made me proud, dearest Aveni. We have much more to discuss, but all of that can wait until after we get you some food, a shower, and some medicine. Take as long as you need to recover. Then once all of your vital signs are back to normal and you are cleared by medical, I will show you my true plans for our great empire and for the entire universe. There is someone very dear to your heart who is waiting to speak with you. Welcome back to where you have always belonged, my son."
Chapter 7
Soft yellow and white lights shone down onto the intricate hardwood floors, ivory pedestals, and crystal tables piled high with cucumber sandwiches, chopped exotic fruits, and decanters of sparkling wine. Men and women dressed in expensive Darkshot finery gathered around the artwork on display, commenting and discussing the techniques that the artists had utilized in their creation. Stiletto heels clicked on the polished floors, plastic and gold-plated tuxedos and ballgowns rustled quietly above the live violin music, and couples held hands while they whispered to each other. A few filled out bidding cards and slid them into the slots by the paintings.
Rav sipped from his thin glass of white wine with a red hibiscus flower in the bottom. Below the white paper lanterns encasing flickering candles, he stayed out of the way in the back corner, fidgeting in the purple velvet tuxedo he borrowed from Viktor just for this occasion. This was far from Rav's comfort zone, but this art gala was not for him.
It was for Nemo.
Nemo was on his best behavior and even appeared to be enjoying all the attention. Half of the studio was filled with his paintings of solar systems, nebulae, and alien planets of vibrant colors. The boy was acting like quite the little gentleman. He would take the hands of the ladies and lead them from painting to painting, explaining his art to them. The women fell instantly in love with the tiny blond boy in the mint green tuxedo that matched his eyes. Nemo strutted around like he owned the place, his hair slicked back and a smile on his lips like Rav had never seen.
Nemo laughed, talked, and drank his grape juice with dignity and sophistication beyond his six short years. When one of the women bent down to kiss his cheek, he took her hand and kissed it before winking at her. As the women swooned, their husbands filled out bidding cards for the paintings. Some of the men shook Nemo's hand or slipped plastic bank vouchers worth hundreds of Dayta Notes into his breast pocket.
Rav chuckled and shook his head. That little lady slayer. He made a mental note to himself to keep an eye out, especially as Nemo got older. If this kept up, the girls could become quite the handful. He would certainly have his hands full. And the boy knew exactly what he was doing.
Nemo turned to his father after leading three attractive women to one of his paintings and flashed a bright grin while giving him a thumbs-up sign. He then focused his attention on wooing the women with this boyish charms and sparkling eyes that nearly glowed under the lights. After the women had rustled his hair and filled out bidding cards, Nemo tiptoed over to Rav and whispered to him. "They like me, Daddy. They really like me!"
"Nemo Tillman, come to the front, please." Viktor called to him from the elaborately carved wooden and stone entryway where a news crew had set up cameras below the figures of dolphins and sea life. "It's time for your interview."
"Interview?" Rav asked. "You're gonna be on television?"
The boy bounced excitedly on his toes. "Yep, yep. I'm famous!"
"Right. I'm so proud of you. Go on, now. Oh, and tell Viktor to come talk to me when he gets a chance."
Once Nemo was in front of the reporters and working his charms for the cameras, Viktor waltzed over and handed Rav another glass of wine. "So? What do you think, Rav? Your son is quite the celebrity. Will you let him keep doing this?"
"He loves this. As long as he's happy, he can continue painting. I wouldn't make him stop just because I'm uncomfortable in situations like this. I've never been a very sociable person."
"Do you have any questions about all of this?" Viktor asked. "I know you're new to this lifestyle."
"Not really. I'm just taking it all in and watching Nemo enjoy himself. It's so good to see him playing around and having fun without fear."
"Don't you want to know about the current bids?"
Rav took another drink of his wine and leaned back against the wall. "Is it really that much?"
"Rav, you may not have noticed, but Nemo's artwork has become a cultural phenomenon. His paintings have been featured in magazines, music videos, and now in a movie being filmed. All of Darkshot has fallen head-over-heels in love with the green-eyed boy from Odyssia. As of the last time I checked the bidding cards, you will have a cool sixty million Dayta Notes coming your way. With the economy finally taking an upturn after a month without any signs of major battles against Azimandia and the government officially backing the currency, Dayta Notes are increasing in value. With that money, I can find you a modest mansion in the luxury district of Darkshot City and pay for Nemo to enter elementary school."
Was he serious? They had only been there for around an hour. "He's already made that much money?"
"That's not counting the tips Nemo has been collecting and the royalties for his art being used in media. Welcome to the upper class, Rav Tillman. It will all be here waiting for you after the war."
The
very thought of that much money left Rav dizzy and overwhelmed. He set his wineglass down, feeling suddenly too tipsy. "Are you serious, Viktor? These child finger-paintings are worth that much?"
"These works of art are far from finger-paintings. They are genius masterpieces of cultural perfection, color balance, and abstraction that convey emotions on many levels. Tell me. Heave you taken a few minutes to really examine and appreciate his work as if it was done by someone else? You see this as your son's scribblings because that is all they have been until now. I can tell you that these paintings are good, very good."
"I know. It's strange, though."
Viktor pulled his diamond-encrusted pocket watch from the pocket of his yellow tuxedo to check the time. "I actually needed to speak with you about something incredibly important. What would you do in order to save your son from a life of slavery and danger?"
"Come on, Viktor. What kind of question is that? Can't we just enjoy this?"
"Answer me, please."
Rav eyed him curiously. "I would do anything for Nemo. Why? What's going on? If this is about us moving in with you, the answer is still no."
"It's not that. I simply wanted to make one hundred percent sure that you would sacrifice for him. Things are about to get a lot different for you, Rav. Do you trust me around Nemo?"
"Where are you going with this?" Rav asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You'll find out soon enough. I'm sorry, Rav."
Before Rav could ask any more questions, Viktor had walked off and into a crowd of reporters. Rav was left there, heart filled with worry and his mouth agape. A veil of ominous concern hung over him as he kept a watchful eye on his son in case those questions from Viktor were some sort of threat . . . or a warning. Rav had gone through too much to lose Nemo now.
With his mind set on getting his son and leaving as soon as possible to get him where he could lock him away, Rav pushed through the crowds of fancily-dressed people to where Nemo was being interviewed by a female reporter in front of a camera. He tried to be inconspicuous as he leaned down to whisper to his son. "Nemo, we need to leave."
The Genesis Sequence Books 6-10 Page 6
