The Iron Altar Series Box Set One: Books 1 to 3

by Casey Lea

  “Where are you?” he finally thought to ask, still mystified by his wife’s unexpected call in the middle of the night and her sudden sensitivity to the sound of landing spacecraft.

  “The spaceport roof for sure.”

  He had to take a moment to compose himself before he could answer calmly. “Why?”

  “Because the stars are so lovely.” The Arkyss’ voice softened from a happy trill to a seductive lilt. “You could join us. Drag your magnificence this way and we’ll dance. Dance night-long to the spaceship roar. We’re all so happy. Come dance with us.”

  “Us?” he snapped with sudden suspicion, but she laughed in response.

  “My sweet Broadbill and his boys,” she answered, identifying her bodyguards. “Silly Arck. Billy won’t dance, though. Come and make him. You’re good at that.”

  Sharpeye raised his com to his lips, even though such proximity was completely unnecessary. He spoke slowly and very clearly, with clipped precision. “Dear one, tell sweet Billy that I’ll make him dance for all-time unless he brings you back to the palace right now. The stars above the Summer Tower are most clear tonight. I’ll have the roof made flat so that you can sleep, or dance, or any such from there.”

  “The Summer Tower,” his wife squealed with delight, and the Arck massaged the back of his neck.

  “Indeed.”

  “It’s perfect-as.”

  ‘I thought such.’

  “With the roof made flat and beds all over?”

  “Certain-sure. You can order all as you wish.”

  There was a brief silence and, when the Arkyss answered, her voice was calmer and more wistful than normal. “You know, Sharpeye, I like being pregnant.”

  The Arck hesitated too and heard a clear click when his wife cut the communication. He shut his lips tight in response, too tight for speech. He had to mentally enter a curt query to the senior court healer. Despite the hour, the response was immediate. An older kres appeared above the Royal com, brushing tousled gray and black hair back from his forehead. “Sire, yes, Sire, I assure you all is well. The Arkyss is healthful, Magnificence. She is… ah… vague, to be sure, but no more so than usual. The pregnancy progresses true flight and your son grows well.”

  The Arck responded with a cold look, his jaw still locked tight. Be very sure, he thought with full force, and flipped a finger to dismiss the healer.

  Sharpeye took several deep breaths and managed to regain his calm. The thought that his son might be at risk, that he might be born a horror as Goldown had been, terrified him, but he pushed such fears away. The senior healer had been fully warned and this pregnancy was being closely monitored. This time the Arck was in charge, not the BGP, and he was determined that everything would happen exactly as he wished.

  Sharpeye cleared his throat and placed a com connection to his head of security. “Raptor,” he said without preamble, “the council has agreed to invest my unborn son as Arck-in-Waiting. He is formally named as Arkyn Hawkeye FarFlight.”

  “Congratulations, Sire.”

  “Indeed. With a new Arkyn in-favor, my nephew is now superfluous. Even the Safe Successioners agree. Release the rest of the mercenary fleet. Soon-as. I want Freefall struck and his head at my feet.”

  “As-said so done, Sire. Be most at ease, for the Grace will die.”

  37

  Cold Blooded

  Wing checked his com readings carefully in the flickering light of the service way. They were quickly positive for t’ssaa, but took longer to finish a deeper and more careful scan that identified Payiss. He nodded to Darsey, who was crouched next to him in the confined space. They were pressed against the camouflaged end of a secondary conduit that took energy through to private chambers.

  Only a cheap security field separated them from the t’ssaa in the next room. Wing jammed his com hard against the energy sleeve protecting their hiding place. It took less than a minute for him to reprogramme the field and make it porous to sound waves coming from the chamber.

  A hissing instantly filled the service way and Darsey started against his arm. He offered her an apologetic look while t’ssaa laughter echoed down their passage. Payiss’ voice boomed confidently after it.

  “You are right, Maker. T’ssaa are most strong and hiring you iz strange.”

  “Yes, yes, indeed,” a much softer voice answered and Darsey leaned forward, past Wing’s arm as if straining to hear. “We understand, Lord Client, that your need for our services is trivial. However, having said such, we must assume some need, hmmm? You’d not pay for our expertise without some small, passing reason. To see best results, we must encourage full disclosure. No offence is meant and total privacy is assured, Lord.”

  “Gentik,” Wing informed Darsey, and she leaned closer still, to whisper in his ear.

  “Can they hear us?”

  “No,” he assured her. “The field is still intact and will only pass sound this way. The soft voice with the lilting accent is gentik. They’re a gentle folk, but most expert at gene manipulation. I dislike what this meeting shadows.” He fell silent again, just as Payiss reluctantly agreed to be candid with the gentik.

  “Full truth iz ssimple. T’ssaa are not made for cold. Cold of sspase, cold of sstrange worldz with ssingle ssunz… all are harsh and hard. It takess much com charge to keep our sspeed in such.”

  “Ah,” the gentle voice mused, and there was a prolonged murmur of quiet consultation. “My colleagues and I understand. Your metabolism slows too quick as temperatures fall. You have to rely on your coms for body heat. Your species is cold-blooded-”

  The gentik’s observation became a sudden squawk. However, his protest was brief and silence quickly followed it. There was no noise at all, no hint of what was happening, until Wing connected his com to the energy screen again. He took the risk of thinning it further, so that light could pass through to them. Darsey leaned past his shoulder to stare at the room beyond the service way.

  A t’ssaa with its crest thrown wide in display was gripping a taller, thinner figure by the neck.

  “Payiss,” Nightwing identified the assailant, as scaled, green fingers tightened in the gentik’s throat.

  Payiss managed to loom over the tottering geneticist, despite being shorter than him. There were four other gentik present, but they made no effort to intervene. They knelt quietly on the shabby carpet, flanked by nine t’ssaa, whose crests were still flat, but stirring ominously.

  “Never ssay such again,” Payiss ordered with clenched fury, and shook the gentik for emphasis. “Never.” He released his victim, who fell to the floor, shaking and gagging.

  His gentik companions moved for the first time, carefully shuffling closer to their injured leader. They murmured sympathy and one cautiously proffered a regen strip. Payiss slapped his thigh in impatient encouragement and they dared to move closer still, helping their leader to rise and getting him as far as his knees.

  “We will pay most well,” the t’ssaa leader offered carelessly, with no attempt to apologise.

  The gentik had to clear his throat several times before he could answer.

  “W-well and good, Lord Client. I must warn you it will take much credit. Your choice of kres is wise. They are well adapted to an icy world and have no care of cold. However, your species are most distinct and it will take time, many generations even, to introduce such traits predictably.”

  The t’ssaa blinked rapidly in amusement and laughed again, a hissing susurration that carried clearly to the energy duct.

  “Time? Time is nothing to the clutch. Our sspawn must be fast in all temperature, but until then we are patient. We know how to hibernate. How to be sstill and wait for our goals. Is time the only constraint? Can you do it?”

  Darsey leaned even further to catch the soft gentik response. She pressed close to Wing, which would have been distracting if not for the t’ssaa’s response.

  “Absolutely, Lord Client. We can achieve whatever you wish, with sufficient experiments. You have gu
aranteed access to all the t’ssaa DNA we need, but what of the kres? They will never agree to such and their race is difficult about selling tissue. This type of manipulation would be most easy with sperm or eggs. Can you-?”

  “Of course,” Payiss interrupted. “We have identified a ssource of both. The eggs are presently in grip. We have bought a female and ssoon we will hold ssperm too. The donor was difficult, but ssteps have been taken. His resistance is nothing.”

  Wing looked at Darsey in alarm and she grimaced back before he turned back to the room. The t’ssaa blinked happily down at the gentik.

  “We can provide fresh testes. Do you require one or two?”

  “Mmmm?” the gentik asked gently. “Oh both, definitely. I mean, we could make do with one, but a pair is always better.”

  Wing shuddered against Darsey and realized that she was shaking too. The t’ssaa’s confidence was frightening. He spoke as though Wing was already caught. How the hail could he be so sure of that? Wing stiffened and Darsey’s eyes widened, so it seemed she’d reached the same conclusion.

  “They traced me,” Wing hissed, even as Darsey started to scan him with her com. “But I was watching while they examined me. They had no chance-”

  “Here,” Darsey said brusquely, and her wrist stopped before the gold blade of his nose. He saw a cell-sized transmitter projected by the scanner and groaned.

  “Drak, that bustwing left it when he hit me.”

  “Can I neutralise it?”

  “Certain-sure. Just dose it with a targeted electromagnetic pulse. Quick-as, Darse. Our scaly friend is instructing his crew to take some care castrating me.”

  Wing locked his jaw against further words. There was no point lecturing Darsey and he turned his attention back to the t’ssaa conversation. He could hear the hunters closing in as they relayed their progress to the leader.

  Darsey’s hand hovered over the energy fleck hidden under his skin, while her com hummed faintly. He hoped her electromagnetic pulse disabled the tiny tracer in time. If not, returning to the docks would involve wading through reptiles and unfortunately t’ssaa were among the most fearsome warriors in space.

  Wing ordered his wrist band to combat mode just before the t’ssaa’s voice rose to a sandstorm hiss.

  “Say once more,” Payiss demanded of his com, and his spines stiffened to start spreading the crest against his neck. “What do you mean you losst him?”

  “The ssignal sstopped, Father,” a tiny projection protested, and the leader’s crest quivered in angry warning. “We will find it, Father. We were closing on your possition. The ssignal was transmitting near you. We should have the prey trapped.”

  ***

  The t’ssaas’ crests exploded into full display, flying forward and up in a blaze of gold and blue and the gentik abased themselves as quickly as they could. DisRaya the Maker, ranked lowest in the class threw himself onto his face, but didn’t hide his eyes like the others. He raised his head just enough to look round. Beside him the Professor had buried his face in the tattered carpet and the Maker hid a sneer.

  The t’ssaa whirled and spun above him and he flinched when they stamped past, searching for threat. Every crest was spread wide, although none stood as high or bright as that of their leader, the only adult male.

  “The kres must have tracked me,” Payiss hissed. “He is sstill near. Search the building. Sstart with sservise ways.” He turned and his arm rose with blurred speed as he aimed his wrist.

  His com fired and the other gentik wailed when smoke and sparks filled the room. The Maker bit back a whimper, bolstered by his disgust at his better bred classmates.

  The blast destroyed most of a wall, to leave the once-hidden service way gaping and dribbling energy onto a shattered floor. The geneticists huddling close to each other, but the Maker ignored them, as they ignored him. The lowest student gazed openly at the t’ssaa, who were completely preoccupied by their hunt.

  The reptiles charged to surround the twisted tunnel, but it was empty. The t’ssaa examined it with smooth caution anyway and their smallest warrior looked quickly around the steaming edge of the breach. It drew its crested head back with sinuous grace and its tongue flickered before rising in assent.

  “Kres was here, Father. Not long past. Kres and ssomething other. An unknown trace.”

  Payiss ducked to leap through the cooling rent without further hesitation. “Other does not matter,” he spat. “The kres is ours. But remember, aim clear and high. Shoot only for his head.” The Leader’s crest vibrated to give an ominous undertone to his warning and the nine followers lowered their stiff manes to show obedience. He gestured sharply and they joined him with ease.

  They flowed into the service tunnel and spaced themselves automatically. The leader started to run and the others followed at a crouch. Their headlong advance was silent apart from the occasional rattle of extended crests and the hissing of breath. Their tongues flickered, only sometimes red against green in the changing light, as they tracked their prey.

  The Maker watched them go, before quietly pressing his nose to the threadbare floor. He lay perfectly still, until the other gentik finally dared to move. The t’ssaa were long gone by the time they cautiously lifted their heads. Another slow, silent moment passed before the Professor half-rose.

  He checked his students, making passing eye contact with the Maker, then shuffled on his knees toward the gaping hole that used to be a service way. He unbent slowly until he could lean into that tunnel, still half crouched and wary of any danger.

  “Professor,” one of his team whispered diffidently, but he started anyway and knocked his head against the sagging ceiling of the service way.

  “Drak,” he swore at the pain and the Maker hid a smile at the outburst.

  The Professor looked back toward his students with a shocked expression. “Forgive my ill manners. Such language! I surely regret showing so much aggression. It was shameful.”

  “Please don’t mind, Professor,” the first speaker answered softly, wringing her hands anxiously. “The fault was mine, to scare you so.”

  “No, no. No fault is laid, my child,” he responded, and they bowed to each other in ritual exchange of forgiveness. The Maker had to look away, while his gut churned.

  “What did you wish, First Student?” the leader asked softly.

  “Professor, this hunt by the t’ssaa is a likely source of danger. Should we perhaps call our guardians and leave?”

  “Yes, yes, a good idea. See to such, my dear ShaDalRonyn. And while we wait, we shall seek for samples.”

  The Professor had the instant interest of his team, but the Maker silently cursed. He’d hoped the rug hugging fools had missed the t’ssaa’s comments, but the old man remained sharp. Still, it was possible the Professor had missed the important part. The Maker puffed out his chest and pushed forward past his classmates.

  “Gene matter from a kres,” he announced loudly, but the senior gentik frowned at his suggestion.

  “That is partly true, DisRaya, but if you wish to earn your chosen name of Maker, you must remain more alert.” The Professor’s smile returned and he beamed around at the rest of his students. “The kres for sure. Such DNA is always of interest, but what is most of interest here?” He smiled complacently at the grazers milling around the Maker, but they lowered their eyes in respectful thought.

  ShaDalRonyn, who had finished asking the guardians to fetch them, was the first to look up. “Professor?”

  “Yes, Dal? For what shall we search?”

  She smiled diffidently and bobbed her head. “Perhaps the ‘unknown trace’ the t’ssaa found.”

  “Yes, yes. Very good indeed.” The Professor turned back to the service way and his eyes, one orange and one brown, held identical gleams of excitement when they flicked past the Maker. “Don’t press so close, DisRaya. Take more care. The young t’ssaa scented an unknown species. Some creature it had never met. A new pet mayhaps, or even a creature of weapons-grade potential?�
� He turned back toward the ragged tunnel and his students crowded close behind. “Find this strange species,” he gasped in breathless encouragement. “Find its genes, my dears, and quick. The hunt is on.”

  “Most fast, Professor,” the Maker agreed, holding back his classmates with rude enthusiasm and then suddenly throwing himself at the ruined serviceway. However, before the others could join him, he staggered back with a thin wail.

  The rest of the group blanched and stepped away, except for the Professor, who managed to step forward and support his distressed student.

  “What is wrong, DisRaya?” the teacher demanded irritably, and his trembling pupil held up a bloody hand in response. “Tssk, you’ve cut it quite deep on that ragged edge. Hold still while I apply regen.” The senior gentik glanced at the now-bloodstained opening beside him and sighed. “You’ve also contaminated any samples we might have gained. I’m sorry, but I must grade you at F for this field trip.”

  The Maker groaned in response, but made no other protest. Instead, he sank to the floor, hunched over his injured hand. The group re-gathered, but all turned their backs to him and consequently missed his careful survey of the tissue he had claimed before he had deliberately sliced his hand. He kept his head down, as he always did in class, and smiled with quiet satisfaction.

  38

  Drafted

  Clearwing held herself very still, resisting the impulse to shudder when seamed hands ran lightly up her bare arms and came to rest on her shoulders. Aged fingers flexed with surprising strength to hold her hard while a final scan swept her body. This time, she did flinch and the old male behind her clucked sympathetically. ‘

  “We’re near done,” he promised, and released one of her shoulders to offer it a quick pat.

  “Don’t fuss so, Sparrow,” Lady Grace ordered from her seat in front of Clear. “Pinion is a fleet officer and can stand a little scan.”

  “Certain-sure,” Clear gasped as the surprisingly invasive study finished with a final burst.