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

by Casey Lea

  Nikareon stifled a grin at that thought. He could normally go beserk to defend himself, but he was here to save lives, not slay everyone in sight. For once violence wasn’t an option. He’d just have to watch the mighty Lady Muck and use his boundless charm to distract her if necessary. He’d best think quick though. She inhabited a paranoia-rich environment and if she even suspected he was going to save the kres munchkins he’d end up on a table beside them. He didn’t mind getting flushed for a good cause, but he needed to claim those tots first.

  Nikareon stopped pacing and turned his slight smile toward Lamidia, but she hadn’t noticed anything. She was staring raptly at her victims, wide eyed with lips slightly parted, and his heart ached at how lovely she was. On the outside. What a waste. He’d once tried to explain his Code of Innocents to her when she was still a girl, but she’d laughed. It was the only time she’d been amused by one of his jokes and he’d been utterly serious. That had been his mistake of course. Never get serious.

  Nikareon looked from the machine he was using, to his victim and almost grimaced. The kressy-kins was struggling and her eyes abruptly rolled up into her head.

  “Done,” he snapped and powered down the irradiator without checking whether it had actually finished. “Time to kill the babe.”

  “No. This baby’s female. Don’t abort it, I want it stunted and sterile. Irradiate it.”

  Nikareon closed his eyes until he could calm them. Drak. He’d have no chance to steal the child now. Not what he’d hoped, but then hope was for teenage girls and the mothers of soldiers. He grimaced and Lamidia looked at him sharply. Oh oh. Time for petulant and impatient. “What’s wrong bossy one? You promised we could kill babes and club kittens.”

  “Will you ever take anything seriously?”

  “I don’t know. Find me something that’s not funny.” Of course that was the moment Nikareon made the mistake of looking down at Clearwing, who’d recovered enough to stare back. Her eyes were awash. The universe might well have been laughing, but the young mother was not. Her fronds lifted toward him, while her lips shaped, “Please.” His cheek twitched and he looked quickly at Lamidia to see whether she was watching.

  However, the Harvester was happily preoccupied. Whatever passed for her mind was busy staring at Clearwing. He flicked a finger at the Maker and was answered by a groan, but Lamidia missed it. At least her unfailing stupidity was the single constant in his life.

  Nik’s fingers brushed his com to relay an order to the shaking gentik. There was no response and he looked up with a glare. The scientist bowed forward like a bush before a gale and Nikareon’s wrist pulsed when something arrived at his com. He let his gaze drift lower and a DNA insert gleamed up at him. Perfect. He might have lost the baby, but he could still cheat. Make it look like he was obeying the ditch while actually taking a small step along the path his people had to travel. The path to freedom. Or truly messy, utter annihilation. Either way, it should prove interesting.

  “More sunburn, as ordered,” he told the Mermaridian and cranked the machine to its noisiest setting. “We needs must hurry,” he reminded Lamidia and she stirred impatiently.

  She stepped forward and grabbed a strand of Clearwing’s hair to pull her head sideways. She studied the slack golden face with disgust. “Has the gat fainted again?”

  “Most like,” Nikareon grunted. “Irradiation is a severe physical shock. Without her com her system is overloaded.”

  “Hmmmm. I suppose that's good. Is it done?”

  “Almost, but such things take time. Don’t shine your eyes at me. As I spoke, so I'll do. Your order was one microwaved fetus and I will deliver. I suggest you retreat now. The human's cry for help was likely heard, so tippy-toe off before we're neck high in outraged mates. I can bring the Maker in my sliver.”

  Lamidia hovered for another moment, eyes darting between the two captives and then swore venomously. “I wanted to see them suffer. To have them wake and show them what had happened to their brats.” The Luck-in-waiting snarled again, before slamming her fists against Clearwing's table. There was no response. The kres remained unconscious. Lamidia snarled a final time and the building started to shake, while her wrist com shrilled an alert. She glanced down to check it and took a single step back. Her guards enveloped her, lifting her off her feet and she was instantly gone.

  Nikareon blew out the breath he’d been holding and switched off the irradiator. At least his encouragement to Darsey to cry out and his com support for that thought had worked. Lamidia was no longer breathing down his neck and he was free to grab the Maker.

  “My thanks,” he said to Darsey. “She truly knows how to outstay her welcome.” The human glared at him with impressive ferocity. “Ouch. I might have to name you an honorary Beserk.”

  He smiled and ignored the fury rolling from her frond, to stroll over to the gentik. It was time to steal a baby.

  5

  Rescue

  Darsey stared blankly at the ceiling. Her view was interrupted when the Maker moved between her legs, making her flinch, before she pressed her thighs tightly together.

  “No,” she said, no longer sure whether she was threatening or pleading or praying, but he pried her legs apart anyway. Darsey shuddered and screwed her eyes tight shut. Anything else was beyond her. She vaguely heard Nikareon joking with the Doctor, but then every external sound vanished. The steel room disappeared, along with the smell of antiseptic and the cold of the table under her. They were swept away by terror.

  Darsey cried out, but her own scream went unheard. It was covered by the mental howls of her sons. Two tiny minds wept in unison, their thoughts darting through her head in frantic disarray. They had no words, but that was worse. Raw fear and loss gripped her heart, to amplify her own horror.

  CALM. A hand fell on Darsey's wrist and she opened her eyes to see Nikareon studying her solemnly. His fronds wafted regret over her, but that was all. He seemed unaware of the horrifying clamor from her babies.

  Of course he was unaware. They were hers, not his. Not anyone else's and only she could hear their emotions.

  Abruptly one small mind sent, Pain pain PAIN/ RELIEF and then just as suddenly it was silenced. Simply gone. Darsey's eyes flew open to stare at her distorted reflection in the ceiling. Her heart was exploding. Her mouth grimaced, gaping in the metal like a landed fish and she struggled for breath. She managed one ragged gasp and searched for another. This couldn't be real. There was no way she had just lost a baby. Just lain there and let some alien monster destroy him.

  “It's done,” the Maker muttered and Nikareon slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Perfect. Time to go. Past time-” The Beserk stopped and Darsey heard his breath catch when he leaned closer to her. “Why is her belly still so distended? She looks as full as a blushberry about to pop.”

  Darsey knew it was ridiculous, but she sucked in her breath as hard as she could. The taut skin of her stomach hardly moved - at least not until the remaining baby twisted frantically, making it ripple beneath her gown. The two aliens watching exclaimed in shock, but the Maker quickly leaped forward to place gentle hands on her abdomen.

  “Another child,” he gasped, “how can this be? Only animals carry multiple young. Not sentients.”

  Darsey wanted to growl at that, or laugh hysterically, but she still had one ploy left. She let her chin quiver, while her mind murmured, Still, still. “Humans,” she told her captors in a defeated monotone. “We humans. Sometimes when we r-really want to be pregnant, we have hysterical pregnancies. Our bodies are very good at pretending to be with child.”

  “Seems doubtful this could be mimicry,” the gentik observed, bustling to unpack his scanner, but Darsey's frond bushed to send a clear sense of her honesty to Nikareon. She let his mind read her thoughts about hysterical pregnancy and he grabbed the Maker by his elbow.

  “She's telling the truth. Her people do have such a thing. It seems this vacation is done. Time for us to fly, Doc.”

  “I
can make my own way-”

  “Not so rapid,” Nikareon chided, shifting his grip to the back of the gentik's neck and dragging him away from Darsey. “I've further need of you. A new commission from the Beserks and we'll pay you well.”

  The Maker squirmed miserably, but was unable to escape that guiding hand. “My thanks, Lord, but I need a rest-”

  His protest disappeared with a gurgle when Nikareon shook him by the collar. “Did I ask for volunteers? You've been drafted. Consider yourself an honorary Beserk and feel free to lose your temper as you wish.”

  The room shuddered in response to a much closer explosion and Nikareon hoisted an old fashioned backpack over his shoulder, before grasping the Maker by his robe, to propel him bodily toward the exit. “Farewell, ladies, it's been distressing, but then isn't life?”

  Darsey had no reply, but the Beserk didn't wait for one. He carried his reluctant employee down the metal corridor and she heard only one set of footfalls echoing from the walls and ceiling as her torturers fled. She lay there unmoving, beside her equally still friend, but her mind was busy again.

  The formless thoughts of her remaining son assaulted her and she struggled to calm him. Her heart lurched when she realized that he missed his brother. She had no way of explaining that loss and all she could do was send love and comfort instead. She concentrated as hard as she could on how much she adored her child and the baby responded.

  His feelings settled and then something trickled back to Darsey. “Oh,” she gasped and held her breath, stretching her frond to its limit in an effort to catch her son's wordless reflection of comfort and love. It was definitely there, a tiny mirror of her emotions, attempting to reassure her in return.

  Darsey was jerked back to her surroundings by noise and a rush of wind that was followed by her husband. Wing collided with her, his arms enveloping her to sweep her from the table and into the safety of his embrace. He held her close to his chest, ready to run if he had to, even as he buried his face in her hair.

  Darse. Are you kay?

  All Darsey could do was shake her head against the curve of his shoulder. Her frond wrapped around his just as it always did when they met, moving automatically. Her emotions were still too raw for words and Wing’s throat constricted, but if he had any comfort to offer it was interrupted. There was more noise, a cacophony of boots and yells when Free and the bodyguards arrived. The kres skidded to a halt beside his cousin and Darsey opened her eyes at a gentle touch on her cheek.

  “Dee.” They exchanged a look and Free recoiled from whatever he saw in her eyes. She cursed herself and wished she could protect the people she loved, before realizing that it wasn't always possible. Or ever possible. Free frowned at her bitter thought, while his hand cupped her cheek.

  “Clear’s unconscious. How could she have involved you in this? What did they do to you?”

  “Who did this to you?” Wing asked with an edge to his voice that made Darsey think of his sword. She answered instantly.

  “A Mermaridian called Lamidia. A Beserk called Nikareon. The Maker was their prisoner, but he did what they wanted.”

  A blast of horror and guilt from Free made her flinch and Wing rocked her in his arms, while staring at the scan results appearing in the air in front of them. Darsey turned to look despite herself and instantly saw flat lines where the third life sign should have been. It was hard to believe, even though she knew it was true. No, it was hard to accept. Even her thoughts faltered. I should never have named him after Devyn... tempting fate. I lost my brother and now his namesake is gone too. Her body heaved and her husband's arms turned to iron around her, but then abruptly he was pushing her away, handing her over to Free.

  Darsey gasped through her sobs, but the transfer was so quick that she was being picked up and carried by her friend before she could react. She accepted the exchange, but craned awkwardly around to watch Wing. Damn her tears. They made him hard to follow, especially when Free cradled her closer, moving carefully to monitor his wife's progress with the medic.

  “I want out-talk,” Wing ordered his com with cold clarity, before turning to check on Darsey again. Yes, she knew that look. Someone was about to regret being born- her fists clenched in Free’s tunic at her stupid words and fresh tears fell. Did Wing’s face crease when she started sobbing? She controlled the useless waterworks enough to check. Yes, there were definite signs of pain, but only briefly before his game face returned. “Lamidia. Now,” he ordered his com. “Use our mermaridian contacts to link with her.”

  Pertwing murmured acknowledgement, without any sign of her avatar. Wing’s com hummed briefly, before a hologram of the mermaridian leader appeared in the air before him.

  Lamidia's demure smile froze in place, while her eyes narrowed uncertainly. “Freefall? No. Who are you?” Wing remained silent, studying the female in front of him, her clothes, her nest, her crew. She stirred uncomfortably and scowled. “If you've naught to say this talk is over.”

  Wing’s eyes stopped roving to settle on the Harvester and Darsey's mouth twitched, briefly curving up, when her husband's cold scrutiny made Lamidia shiver. The Luck-in-waiting stilled and scowled in belated recognition. “You must be Nightwing. I care nothing for your enmity, kres. Bring your little ships to mermaridian space. I'd love to know you as intimately as I know your wife.”

  She paused with a leer and waited for a reaction, but Darsey stayed silent, watching Wing while he studied the scene in front of him.

  “Make your challenge. Tell me of your grievance,” Lamidia demanded, but there was still no response.

  She raised a hand to cut the contact, but Wing spoke before she could. His chest rose and a guttural growl escaped him. "Where's the Beserk?"

  Lamidia jerked and her eyes slid toward the interstellar display above her data senior's console. “Thank you.” Wing lifted a finger to break the connection, but smiled just before he did. “You will rue this,” he promised and Lamidia frowned before her image faded.

  Wing spun away as soon as she disappeared, striding across to hoist Darsey from Free’s arms. She dug into her husband's embrace, seeking comfort, but who was she kidding? This loss was going to hurt forever and nothing could stop it. Certainly not revenge.

  “Lamidia?” Free asked grimly, echoing Darsey's thoughts, but not her conclusion.

  Her husband was equally vengeful. “We hound the ditch,” Wing swore. “Trying to kill a Luck’s daughter would likely start a war, so instead we track her every move and sabotage them all. We make her look luck-lost to her people and we know what they do to curse magnets. She'll be assassinated by her own folk.”

  Free offered a death's head grin in return. “As fate decrees.”

  Darsey shuddered in Wing’s arms. Why were they talking so casually about fate? Fate was cruel beyond belief. How could anyone fight such a force? How could she even face it again? She suddenly stopped trembling and frowned, sending tears sliding from her face in new directions. The universe was unavoidably harsh, but she had to fight back for one reason only. She still had someone to fight for. Darsey dropped a hand from Wing’s neck to let it rest on her belly instead. I'll never let anyone hurt you again, she promised and her son kicked hard against her palm.

  6

  Farewell

  Six Years Later – Alliance 7

  Amber sat beside Sparrow, squeezing his fingers in helpless comfort. The last year had been increasingly hard, watching him wither into truly old age. She leaned forward to trace the golden strands that crisscrossed his forehead, the frown lines etched by six hundred and four years in a single body. Her dark hair, still disheveled from sleep, fell forward to clothe them both in shadow. Her tears fell into its waves and she cursed her childish reaction. This crisis was beyond weeping. It was past loss and past all grief she had ever known. Her brother, who had saved her life so many times, was slipping away and for the first time in all their lives there was nothing she could do.

  Amber's hands kept wandering aimlessly, grasp
ing and patting at the frail old kres. Her mind was stuck in a loop. Four hundred and twenty-two thousand, four hundred and twenty-two thousand... That was how long they had been together. All their lives. Tonight was the end and she had no idea how to survive it. Or whether she even wanted to. Sparrow stirred slightly, his paper-thin skin rasping against her hand.

  Don't think so, his mind chided her, because his voice had failed earlier in the night. You have to live.

  “I'm aware of that,” the sixteen-year old Amber snapped, but a quaver in her words betrayed her. I know I have to save everyone, but I don't think I can. Not without you. Another tear fell to splatter on the back of Sparrow's blotched hand. His eyes grew wet as well, until his own tears pooled in the hollows around them, but his mind never wavered.

  You will succeed, love. This time you have what you need and it's not me. It never was.

  She bit her lip against sobs, keeping them in check, but her mind was already keening. You're wrong, Sparrow. I l-love you-

  She was interrupted by a puff of air from her companion, the closest he could now come to a spoken protest. Dearest sister, my loss may hurt, but you will continue. You must. All alone. That's what saddens me.

  “Don't feel sorrow for me, I'm not the one dying.” Not yet.

  No, not yet. Sparrow's fingers spasmed and actually managed to briefly grip Amber's. But I don't want you to simply stay alive. I want you to live.

  I've lived many times, as you would recall if you were not so senile.

  Any laugh was now beyond the old man, but his lips twitched in the echo of a smile. My mind remains sharp. Don't try to divert me with jests. In all our shared lives, eon after eon, you’ve ignored every chance at joy. You flee from love as if it were a curse and that grieves me.