“You're real useful today." Tracy shrugged. "And would you please stop scratching your head. It’s making me itchy.” Tracy put her hand down, uncertain of what to do with it. Sage looked down the hallway. The ship was practically empty. The shakedown only required a minimal crew. Less than skeleton. And any non-essentials that were unable to help with repairs were going to the campus to get tickets for the Peace Games.
Sage knew for a fact the ship had been designed to be run by at least two hundred people. Fortunately, he had made contingencies. It could be run by as few as seven people if the need arose. That was, if he could fix all the ship’s problems.
“At least the repairs are going smoothly,” Tracy offered. Sage glanced over at the kid and smirked.
“Like there’s anything else to do other than replace every conduit in the ship,” Sage returned. “If they’d just tried to follow the specifications.” He picked up a spare piece of conduit and a wire splicer. “Flaming budget cuts.” Tracy smiled as Sage worked his way beneath the bulkhead again. Despite the calm exterior, Mr. Cortez was certainly as hot-blooded a Spaniard as she’d been told. But Tracy could tell he was more than happy to be doing his job, despite how much he complained.
Sage reached out for a wrench that was right around his hip. It wasn't there. He fumbled around a little, and called out. "Tracy, where's that hex-wrench?" She didn't answer. "Lesnin!" There was a shuffling, a closing bulkhead and a crash. Sage shimmied immediately from beneath the bulkhead and saw Tracy shaking her head as she sat up.
"You okay?" Sage asked. Tracy nodded with embarrassment.
"I went to find your wrench in the storage locker and slipped on some lubricant." Sage's concerned face turned into annoyance.
"Well, since you're all right, you be more careful." Tracy nodded, handing Sage the hex-wrench. Her hand went to her scalp almost immediately. “Don’t. You. Dare!” he barked, his accent heavy. Tracy let her hand down sheepishly. With a nod, Sage returned to his work.
Later that evening, Sage entered his quarters on B-Deck and locked the door. He preferred his evenings. He preferred being alone at night. The room was dark, and he left it so for a while. He liked the way it felt to lay on his bed in the dark and not sleep.
It had been a long day. He hadn’t signed up as an engineer to repair every last circuit board and optic connection on the ship. He had signed on as chief engineer to make sure that no one messed with his baby. And yet, somewhere in the construction, they had.
But he really didn’t mind. Beats working in Sha-Nor, he thought. And since Sha-Nor was in the middle of a lot of political upheaval, it was quite a bit more dangerous to be a pawn out there. At least on the Triumphant he had a place and a purpose. And no one knew the ship better than he.
Except maybe Donavan. He knew a great deal about the way the ship worked, and was not shy about voicing his opinion on the matter. Sage didn’t mind that at all either, because he never countermanded him unless the situation was serious. And that was only if he was right.
“Lights please.” The room came to light slowly, allowing Sage’s eyes to adjust to the surroundings. The room was a little cluttered, but not unmanageable. Donavan didn’t come and inspect his quarters. His privacy was respected. For that, he was grateful.
Time to get back to work, he thought. He stood from the bed, gave his head an awakening shake and walked over to the desk. The clutter on it was the heaviest in the room, but Sage paid it no mind. He reached inside one of the piles, and pulled out a very ordinary looking piece of metal. It was twisted and uneven, like it’d been cut off a wrecked car. Sage gave the item a smirk, and walked over to the adjacent wall. He tapped the metal on the desk, sending a ring through the air that sounded almost musical.
With the deftest of touches, he traced a small circle upon the empty wall with the ringing metal. There was a sound within the bulkhead. A turning of a lock. Tumblers throwing. Sage smirked and set the metal back in the pile of paper. The wall shifted and pulled, separating along seams that were not there moments before. In a matter of seconds, another room came into view.
“Voice print identification please,” the computer droned. Sage cleared his throat.
“Fencer, Spider, Craft, Resort, Street, Xenophobe, Twilight,” he said loudly. He’d chosen a password sequence that would be difficult to remember. Even he had run into a little trouble at first, having to write the sequence down to keep from having the computer lock him out. The computer whirred a moment and then toned.
“Voice print match confirmed. Welcome back Mr. Cortez.” Sage stepped into the room slowly. Two beams of light crisscrossed his form and scanned him up and down.
“Genome match confirmed.” Sage shrugged a little and pulled up a chair.
“Computer, resume testing of designated project. Code word clearance, 081476 Alpha Actual.” The computer began working on retrieving the project information. Sage looked straight ahead over the console in front of him and waited. The blank wall in front of him did nothing for a long moment.
“Project 081476 Alpha Actual retrieved,” the computer droned. Sage looked at the readings, trying to remember where it was he had left off. It didn’t seem all that different from working on anything else. Except this might have a relevant purpose. Something he could use to help people with.
“Begin level seven scanning profile. Capture energy signature and analyze.” The computer began to work, playing scanner information across the viewscreen. Sage had set up this process specifically for his own safety. He gave his throat a self-conscious rub. He would not go anywhere near the thing if he could help it. The distance was necessary. But if his theory was right, the benefits would be extraordinary.
Donavan sat in a stiff wooden chair in the Littlefield Archival office, a stack of books on a desk beside him. He tried to look like he knew what he was doing. The Paladin Archive was actually a floor of the Holodrome, one level up from the training facilities. Donavan hadn’t had any trouble finding it. But the sheer size of the place was frightening.
The Paladins called it the Library, but the term hardly did it justice. Donavan could see why students came from all around the world to study in Littlefield. He couldn’t think of any other place that held more raw information. The archives were massive, with books on nearly every subject ever studied. All anyone needed to do was ask about a particular topic and the resident archivist would escort them to the section. But that’s where the help ended.
The extent of the knowledge in the Archival Office was impressive to say the least. According to the dedicatory plaque at the entrance, Lady Azalea Horan Bolivaro had instituted the Paladin Archive Project nearly a thousand years before. She had assembled the largest collection of books, scrolls, journals, genealogies, and recordings in the known world. Along with that, she had made a decree in the Paladin bylaws that required all knowledge to be catalogued for future generations. There was no place in the world with more information than here.
The area Donavan was looking into wasn’t too uncommon, which meant that there was a lot of information on the subject. Donavan did his best to filter down the description of the thing he’d seen. But that still left something in the vicinity of a thousand computer references and several dozen books to flip through. He eyed the stack of books on the desk and frowned. This was madness.
On top of all this, Donavan’s promised ‘consultant’ had yet to arrive. Marcus hadn’t been terribly clear on the person’s description, so Donavan couldn’t flag them down, whoever it was. He just flipped pages of ancient looking books and hoped that maybe he’d see a picture of what he’d seen.
The Library was quiet, despite the thirty or so people Donavan had counted on the way to the Stacks. He’d always made it a point to keep a running head count of wherever he was, just as a safety measure. Mostly, paladin trainees were sitting about, studying up for their classes. He was the only person in the whole room that wasn’t in any type of paladin uniform.
Not that he felt out of place.
His particular section of the library was very empty, except for himself. It didn’t really feel like anyone was there. But Donavan was more tuned to what was going on around him lately. If the shroud decided it wanted to appear again, he’d be more than ready for it.
“Captain Dirk?” a small voice said, cutting the silence. Donavan turned around to see Mary Wyllder standing there. Her voice was usually so small, but the lack of sound gave it a good deal more force.
“Miss Wyllder. Are you lost?” Mary smirked behind her glasses.
“I’m late. However, I don’t get lost in the Archival Office Captain,” she said sharply. Donavan didn’t know a lot about the girl, other than what he’d learned about her in the Holodrome Simulator Room. She was bookish, so her being in the library shouldn’t have surprised him.
“I think the question is are you lost?” she asked quietly. Donavan tilted his head a little.
“I’d rather not be,” he admitted finally. Mary watched as Donavan gave the page of the book he was reading a frustrated turn. She frowned a little. Donavan wasn’t being terribly kind to the books. “I’m searching for a spook and I have no idea where to begin. The Archivist looked at me like I was nuts when I asked for a book about ghosts and spirits.”
“Well, Sir Kasidyne sent me to help you, so we’ll get you UN-lost in just a minute.” Donavan shook his head with a smile. That certainly sounded like Marcus.
“You’re the consultant I was told to expect,” he said flatly. Mary nodded, taking a book in hand. She began flipping through it, her hands deft on the paper.
“If that’s what you want to call me. But after we find your spook, I wonder if you might be able to help me with some information I need.” Donavan looked puzzled.
“What would I know that you wouldn’t be able to find in these books?” Mary only glanced up slightly from the tome she was perusing.
“Ian.” Donavan looked a little surprised.
“Ian Sodaro?” Mary nodded.
“The one and only.” Donavan looked back down at his book and smiled. The girl was ambitious to say the least. Ian wasn’t one to fall for young girls, but it seemed that Mary would remain undaunted.
“Do I want to know why?” Mary flipped another page.
“Only if you’re very strange, Captain.” He had to chuckle at that. “So tell me about this thing you saw.”
Chapter 13
A Harrowing Memory
Ellis wasn’t too happy that he had to be in class today. Not that being in class any day made him feel all fuzzy inside. But today was the beginning of the Peace Games, and Ellis wanted to be there for some of the preliminary events. Lady Safira was going to continue teaching algebra, come hell or Innovan attack. At least, that’s what she said.
Ellis did his best not to make eye contact with anyone in class. Not that anyone was looking at him. Most people ignored him outright these days. He preferred it that way. The only one lately who had really paid him any attention was Uther. The young Un’Hok Tol sat at his far left, attentive and alone. He wasn’t looking at him, and Ellis didn’t want him to. Uther hadn’t been intrusive or rude or anything like that. But he had been glancing in his direction, like he was trying to figure out what Ellis was thinking. That was the last thing that Ellis really needed was someone knowing his thoughts. After what had happened at the Cotillion night before last, he didn’t want anything to do with Uther.
On the other side of the room, closer to the front, was Ian. He was paying attention, doing his best not to flunk the course. But his attention was distracted by his new arm piece. Aiko Maeda, the Erikan in town for the Games, was sitting beside him, under the guise of being interested in the math class. Lady Safira had allowed her to stay, so long as she didn’t disrupt the lesson. She hadn’t given any indication of whether she noticed how much Aiko was disrupting Ian. Aiko wasn’t doing anything overtly distracting. But it was clear that Ian’s attention was not entirely on his math work.
Ellis was vaguely aware of the lesson himself, jotting down notes dutifully. He wasn’t ignoring the lecture. He was just not giving it his full attention. But he was getting it, if not on a conscious level. He knew he’d look at his notes later, not understand them, and then have to ask someone for help. But he was concentrating on something else.
Ever since Uther had clued him in to the presence that was watching them both, Ellis had been trying to hone in on it. He hoped that his natural ability to detect people around him would give him some clue as to who was watching. He wanted to get a bead on them, fast.
He didn’t like being watched. He didn’t like knowing that someone was lurking around corners, waiting to do terrible things to him. Having Sir Kasidyne and Sir Stonebraker always keeping an eye on him was annoying enough. They at least were looking out for his welfare. But to have a stranger watching him, lurking somewhere just out of view, that was something new. And it wasn’t fun.
As yet, things hadn’t panned out. Ellis could neither pin down who was watching him, nor could he sense anything other than his own frustrations. He jotted down another note. Something about irrational numbers. He didn’t care. His eyes looked toward the front of the room. She was there, as she always was, her beautiful face buried in some book.
Ellis shook himself. He’d already tortured himself enough about Mary Wyllder. She was not interested in him the way he was in her. He wished that wasn’t true, but it wasn’t his choice. From what he’d seen, she was interested in someone else. What Ellis couldn’t seem to fathom was why.
Jack Roykirk, he thought. The thought itself was almost caustic. Jack was another in a long line of pompous, overbearing first family members in Littlefield. Another fortunate son from a family of fortunate children who got by on their name alone. A kind of pretended prince in an imaginary kingdom. He was tall, blonde, charismatic, charming and very self-aware of his status. And somehow, Jack had conned his way into a date with Mary. Ellis could only think of one thing when it came to Jack Roykirk.
Jack was a jerk. He wished someone would drop a fist in his eye.
“Ellis,” a whisper said from his immediate left. Ellis looked over, his face annoyed. Jack was beside him, trying to stealthily pass him a note. Ellis looked a little puzzled. Jack must’ve been terribly bored. He didn’t pass notes. He didn’t even relay them when asked. Ellis waited for Lady Safira to face the holo-board, snatching it up silently.
“What’s this for?” Ellis mouthed quietly. Jack shushed him as Lady Safira looked back.
“Just toss it,” Jack muttered. Ellis turned the note over in his hand.
“You’re competing in the Power Tumbler?” Marcus asked, looking right at Rebekah as he said it. The two of them were headed for the classroom, taking the long way around through a hiking path in Nikko Park to avoid the press so they could talk. The trees were thick here, so there were lots of places to hide, but Marcus had made sure Lacey was keeping them apprised of things.
Rebekah shrugged inside her armor. She figured people wouldn’t spot her as easily if she were in her dragoon greens, helmet and all. Her visor was down over her eyes, essentially covering her face like sunglasses. The only thing that might give her away was her flowing brown hair, pony-tailed and hanging out from the back of her headpiece.
“I haven’t made it official yet, but yeah. Why not?” Marcus didn’t look convinced by that. “Look, it’s the best way to keep the press off our back. I get involved in one of the events, and the media sees me all the time training, away from you. I’m busy, which keeps them busy. You’re always saying you like to see who’s involved. This way we pull them into the open.” Marcus shook his head. He wasn’t buying it.
The Power Tumbler was considered one of the more rigorous and difficult events in the Peace Games. The official name was the Strength & Agility Course. Power Tumbler was something they called it because it had a tendency to drop you violently on your face. It was only for those who either wanted to test their stamina and agility, or those that wanted to see just how
hard they could get hurt. Only the nimblest of participants made it through at all. And many of them came away with something twisted, sprained or outright broken. The last champion came out with a broken arm and a severe concussion resulting in a temporary loss of memory. He was not competing this year.
“You know I don’t want you in the Games. Neither you nor Ian.” Rebekah groaned inwardly. She was glad that Marcus was being as over-protective as he was, but sometimes it was just annoying.
“I’ll be all right. You’re overreacting. It’s just a little obstacle course. Nothing a fully trained Dragoon can’t handle.” Marcus still didn’t like it. “There’s nothing in this course that Highmaster Troius hasn’t put me through for years.” He stopped short, waiting for Rebekah to notice he wasn’t walking beside her. She turned, seeing him standing there with a stern look on his face.
“It’s not the course Rebekah. It’s the distance.” Rebekah’s eyebrows met on her forehead. “I can’t protect you in there,” he said. “There are too many variables. Too much we don’t know about what’s happening. And if you get hurt, you make yourself a very vulnerable target for the Innova.” Rebekah returned to him, taking his hand and pushing her helmet visor away from her eyes so he could see her whole face.
“I’ll be all right. Besides, you’re in an event.” Marcus groaned.
“Yeah, but the Council didn’t give me a choice Rebekah. They made it a standing order.” Rebekah looked a little offended, pulling off her helmet to give her hair a quick shake. She didn’t wear the dragon-shaped headpiece all that often anymore, so it felt a little foreign just now.
“And you follow their orders all the time.” Marcus lowered his head, but he wasn’t relenting. “Oh, come on Marcus. I need something to do. And I've been training in my downtime. I'm ready.” Rebekah sounded like she was pleading a little. “I’m going crazy around here. And I can’t stand around waiting for you to tell me what it is that’s wrong.” Marcus glanced around a bit, hoping that the path was about to fill with people. But the long route to class was empty. “What’re you looking for?”
The Paladin Archives Book Two The Withering Falseblade Page 24
