Cenjo had cried—the first time he remembered crying since childhood.
And then the unthinkable happened. Protesters—the Controllers—began firing upon ships containing the citizens cured by Jacin Jaxx. Thousands of saved lives were extinguished in minutes.
Brial was gone.
Cenjo, spurred on with nothing but thoughts of revenge, joined Jaxx’s army the following week and dedicated himself to stopping the Controllers. Once his rage settled, he began to notice some things that didn’t add up. Jaxx’s isolation, the ever-growing power Commander Xiven assumed, and the less-than-tolerant means their army used to subdue protesters.
Cenjo stood idly by while their army lost control—while Jaxx lost control. Suicide ended Jaxx’s life, though no report ever spoke of why he’d chosen that path. Commander Xiven took over, right in time for a double-cross to hit the army’s main base, killing thousands. Most of the soldiers fled, running like wounded animals, trying everything they could to disassociate themselves from the Aleet Army. The Controllers pounced on their chance to ridicule the army any way they could, using propaganda to attach a stigma to the name.
Cenjo walked back into his bedroom and lay flat on his back, staring at the black ceiling.
Eight years since Jaxx’s death. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Cenjo stayed true to the cause. He’d been with Xiven when their base had been attacked. He helped Xiven re-form and recruit soldiers who wanted to restore peace.
And now Daith roamed the same ship, a direct descendant, and Commander Xiven didn’t want the crew to know.
So many illusions. So many secrets.
But he wasn’t sitting idly by this time. He’d already begun to plant seeds—to ensure Daith discovered the truth. To prevent her from suffering the same fate as her father. He may not know Commander Xiven’s true intentions, but he did know Daith wouldn’t last much longer in her current condition.
With that kind of power, all of their lives depended on keeping Daith stable.
Torrak swallowed hard, feeling cold metal press further against his neck. Hot breath moistened his cheek.
“Who are you?” the voice asked.
“My name is Torrak Spirtz.”
To his surprise, the pressure on his throat lessened.
“Torrak?”
Torrak resisted the urge to nod. “Yes. I’m a friend of Pierze Lang.” Pressure lessened on his arm.
“What are the odds.”
Torrak spun around. Steely grey eyes, dark, cropped hair, muscular body. “Opute?”
“In the flesh. What are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story, but we were trying to find you and we—oh, no! Kalil!” Torrak rushed down the stairs. Opute followed and once he reached the bottom, leaned over Torrak to stare at a red-haired, skinny kid on the floor. A splatter of blood enmeshed into Kalil’s hair and his left leg bent the wrong way at the knee. Torrak leaned over his friend and gently shook him until he woke.
“Ow,” Kalil groaned. His eyes fluttered open. “What happened and why do I hurt so much?”
“You got knocked down the stairs,” Torrak answered. He helped Kalil sit up. “This is Opute.”
“Hey, kid.”
Kalil’s eyes widened and he gulped. “Uh, hi?” He tried to stand and cried out in pain. “That can’t be good.”
“You’ll live,” Opute said. He opened the nearest freezer and chipped off a chunk of ice, wrapped it in a towel draped over a nearby chair, and handed it to Kalil. “This should help. Now, brace yourself ‘cause this is going to hurt.” In one fluid movement, Opute swept Kalil over his shoulder. Kalil howled as Opute walked up the stairs. Once on the main level, he ungracefully dropped Kalil on top of the desk.
“Thanks,” Kalil snapped sarcastically.
Opute looked at Torrak. “Who is this kid and where did he learn it’s smart to mouth off to someone a lot bigger than he is?”
Kalil paled.
“Kalil is a friend of mine from Fior. He helped me try to contact Lang and when we couldn’t reach him, I realized something must be wrong.”
“Why are you looking for Lang?”
“We were actually trying to find you.” Torrak paused. “What happened to Lang?”
“Murdered.”
Torrak closed his eyes for a moment. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. His killer is dead, but there was another… party involved. I’ll handle it.”
Torrak’s mind raced with a hundred questions about his dead friend, but something told him not to press the matter. “You’ll make sure this gets fixed?”
Opute’s eyes narrowed. “I will. It’s personal.”
Torrak’s own anger rose. “It’s personal for me, too. You weren’t the only one who cared about Lang.”
“There’s more going on than you know. It’s more than you can handle.”
Torrak wanted to argue, to prove he could be an asset, but he already had his own issue to deal with. Besides, he couldn’t think of anyone else who would make sure everyone connected to Lang’s murder would pay.
Torrak started when he heard Kalil clear his throat.
“I hate to interrupt while the two of you argue over who gets to kill someone, but maybe I should go to the hospital?” Kalil motioned through his ripped pant leg to his knee, now purple and twice its normal size.
“He’s right. There’s an emergency clinic right past the square. Are you going to be here for a while?” Torrak asked. “I’d like to meet later to talk.”
Opute looked down at his blood-splattered clothing. “Cleaning up first would probably be a good idea. I’ll be here by the time you two get back.”
Before he left, Torrak noticed the open closet—empty. “Where’s Lang?”
“Basement freezer. Didn’t want him to spoil.”
Kalil’s face turned a sickly shade of green.
*
Three standard hours later, Torrak entered Lang’s store with Kalil limping behind him. The hospital reported no concussion from Kalil’s head injury, but his knee had been dislocated and he’d torn several ligaments and some cartilage. A quick surgery followed using a cell-replicating program to regenerate the damaged tissue. The new tissue needed twenty-four standard hours to adjust to Kalil’s specific body chemistry. Kalil received a pain-reducing stimulant and the doctor told him to check back if the swelling hadn’t gone down in a day.
Torrak walked into the store and stopped abruptly, causing Kalil to run into him.
“Why are you…?” Kalil began.
Opute balanced on the edge of a chair, leaning his body toward a large stack of shipping crates. His loosened pants were held in a desperate grip while he reached with his other hand toward the crates, on which sat the Nikana, its massive white paws protectively guarding Opute’s belt.
Kalil began to giggle. Startled, Opute's hand slipped from his pants which slid down his legs. Reaching down to pull them back up, he lost his balance and crashed into the boxes next to him, sending the Nikana scrambling to the floor. Torrak rushed over to help Opute when the Nikana growled. Torrak froze. A hair-raising howl came from the feline’s mouth.
“Kana, no!” Opute yelled out. The Nikana eyed Opute and reluctantly backed away from Torrak, its fur still raised.
“Sorry. Never had a Nikana before. Was washing the blood off my belt and it came out of nowhere and snatched it from me. How's the knee, kid?” he asked, nodding in Kalil's direction.
“Dislocated. Should be fine by tomorrow.” Kalil’s glazed eyes matched his goofy grin.
“They gave him some great painkillers,” Torrak said.
Opute turned his attention to Torrak. “So why have you come back to your old stomping ground looking for me?”
“I need your help.”
“You’ve come to collect on your favor.”
Torrak nodded. “I need to know if you’ve heard anything about recent Aleet Army activity.”
Opute’s eyes widened, but he said nothing, so Torrak co
ntinued. “A friend of mine was kidnapped and I believe remnants of the Aleet Army may be involved.”
“Whoa.”
“I know, but I have no choice. My friend is in trouble and I have to help her.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Have any of your contacts mentioned anything about the Army?”
Opute took a moment. “I heard a rumor about someone in the market for leftover scrap metal from Aleet Army ships.”
“Do you have a name?”
“No. But I could send you in the direction of the dealer who talked to him.”
“Well, let’s go.”
Opute snorted. “I don’t think you want to meet my contact in the middle of the night. You should head out in the morning.”
“You mean you’re not coming with us?” Kalil asked, eyes still glassy, a pout on his lips.
“Running head first into something like the Aleet Army is not my idea of a good time.”
“I don’t know how we are going to do this without your help. You know these back streets better than anyone,” Torrak said.
“Don’t sell yourself short. It’ll all come back to you.” He paused. “You both really going to do this?”
“I’m the only one who saw what happened to her. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“And you?”
Kalil looked at Opute with his large, green eyes. “I’ve already come this far and I can’t imagine backing out now. Besides, I have a test tomorrow on black holes I really don’t mind missing.” The smile on Kalil’s face died at Opute’s stoic expression. “I’m in this,” he said, his eyes clear. “Until the end.”
Opute nodded. “Then let me show you where to go.”
Torrak woke the next morning with a headache. He lifted himself from the floor’s cold surface and rubbed his temples. Kalil still slept, his chin pressed against his chest and his bad leg propped up on top of a box. Opute had gone.
Torrak stood and walked to the door. When he looked outside, thoughts of the night before flashed through his mind: Opute drawing a crude map to the place where the dealer, Nuis, would be, loud noises from the crowd outside as the Festival of Moons continued on through the night, and a drunken woman who’d burst through the door, followed closely by two male companions who apologized profusely while she tried to give Kalil a lap dance.
Now, in the bright light of the two suns, Torrak could see the mess from the previous night’s activities. Banners, streamers, and garbage were strewn about the square as city volunteers helped to clean up. Some festival-goers who’d had too much to drink were busy being sick, while others were shoved into vehicles to be taken back to their homes.
“Why does it have to be so bright on this planet?” A voice behind him whined.
Torrak faced Kalil, whose eyes squinted in the light of the planet’s two suns, one a bright yellow, the other a pale red. “You’ll get used to it.” Torrak looked at Kalil’s knee. “How does it feel today?”
“Not too bad. Pretty stiff, but it doesn’t hurt as much as yesterday.”
“Think it feels good enough to meet a black market trader at a bar?”
“Probably. As long as I don’t have to run.”
Torrak thought it over. He didn’t know how sticky the situation might get. “Maybe I should go alone. I’m not sure how things will go with this Nuis guy, and I might have to get out of there fast.” Torrak rolled up the directions Opute had written out for him.
“What do you expect me to do while you’re gone all day?”
“I don’t know. Train the Nikana to do some tricks?” Torrak joked. Now that he had a plan, his tension had lessened considerably.
“Very funny.” Kalil paused and looked around. “Speaking of, where is the beast and its master?”
“I’m not sure. Neither were here when I got up.”
“You think Opute took off?”
“Maybe.” Torrak stepped outside and looked around. The air smelled of fresh dew and lingering food odors. Nobody out there, except a few cleaners and a couple of morning pedestrians. Two men who walked down the street waved in Torrak’s direction. The two men, who looked vaguely familiar, came up to him at the door.
“Mornin’!” the one on the right said with a drawl, his shaggy black hair almost covering his eyes.
“Morning.”
“You probably don’t remember us very well,” said the one on the left side, his blue eye rolling around in his head as his brown eye stayed fixed on Torrak. “We came into your store last night to retrieve our drunken, dancing friend.”
Torrak placed the two men from their story. “Of course. How is she today?”
“A lil’ worse fer wear, but no lastin’ harm. We jus’ wanted to make sure that our friend didn’t do any damage to yer store during her ruckus.”
“I don’t think anything was disturbed.”
“Well, could ya make sure? I’d hate to find out later that she did damage and we didn’t pay fer it.”
“Sure…” A sharp lump caught in Torrak’s throat. Something felt off with the situation, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. The pictures came to mind, but the connections weren’t there.
Kalil looked up as they entered. “What’s going on?”
“These men were the ones who came in last night to retrieve their dancing friend. They wondered if she caused any damage.”
“It would be hard to tell in this place. It’s a mess.”
“All right,” one of the men said. “I’m glad she didn’t wreck anything.”
Torrak gestured to the door. He couldn’t wait to get these two guys out of here. His mind flitted around, trying to figure out what seemed off, but he couldn’t pinpoint the problem. “Well, thanks for checking.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t leave yet.” The one with the rolling eye locked the door while the one with the shaggy hair placed his hand on Kalil’s shoulder. “We know Lang’s dead. So after the big guy left this mornin’, we figgered it wouldn’t be too hard to take on a couple of kids, ‘specially one that’s already messed up.”
“Besides,” the man with the rolling eye chimed in, “we don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Torrak bit back his anger. He couldn’t believe he’d let these two guys in. Why couldn’t he make the connections?
“You may find I’m more trouble than you think,” Torrak said, not willing to give anything up without a fight.
“Not if yer both dead, boy.” The man with a drawl pulled out an electric-volt weapon from under his jacket and aimed it toward Kalil.
Kalil blanched. “Easy man, easy. There is nothing here to kill over. Take whatever inventory you want.”
“We don’t want any of that. We came fer this.” The man with the shaggy hair went over to Lang’s computer system and checked the dataport. “It ain’t here,” he said to his companion.
“What?” The other man came over to the desk. “What do you mean it’s not here?” Frantically searching through datapads and drawers, the man stopped abruptly and turned to face Torrak. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“Don’t play games! You must have found it and kept it for yourself.” The man lunged toward Torrak. Out of pure instinct, Torrak side-stepped and threw him to the floor, using the man’s own weight to propel him.
“That’s enough,” the man with the shaggy hair growled. He pointed the weapon back at Kalil. “The disk was here. Where’s it now?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kalil said, his voice catching. “I don’t have anything. Maybe someone else took it.”
A low voice came from behind Torrak. “The kid’s right. Someone else took it.” Torrak spun and saw Opute in the doorway. “You have one chance,” Opute said slowly to the men, “to leave right now and I won’t kill you.”
The man with the shaggy hair smiled and held the electric-volt weapon up to Kalil’s head. “I don’t think you should be the one givin’ orders. Where’s the disk?”
Op
ute looked at Kalil. “You think I care about him? Who do you think snapped his leg?”
The man glanced down at Kalil’s leg. In that moment, Opute threw his knife. It hit the man in the head right above the ear and he dropped the electric-volt weapon in Kalil’s lap. Opute took two steps toward the man with the rolling eye and broke his neck. The man’s body fell to the floor, his eye rolling into the back of his head. The man with the shaggy hair had time to touch the knife protruding from his skull before he fell backwards onto the desk.
Kalil slid out of his chair. The weapon rolled off his lap as he hobbled away from the dead body.
Opute went over and retrieved his knife, wiping off the man’s bodily fluid. He pushed the dead body off the desk and sat down. “You two all right?”
“You—you killed them.” Kalil said in shock.
Opute shrugged. “Better them than us. They weren’t going to leave you two alive.”
“What disk were they talking about?” Torrak asked, relieved to hear his voice sounded steady.
Opute pulled out the disk from inside his coat. “It’s encrypted. I’m going to take it back to my ship and work on it. But whatever’s on it must be valuable. It’s the reason Lang was murdered, which means there will probably be others who come looking for it.”
“Well, thanks for saving our lives.” Torrak helped Kalil to his feet. “I guess we’d better head out. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Who knows? It’s a big universe.”
The Horizon sped through the vastness of space, sure and steady on its course. It thought nothing of its cargo, its crew, or its past.
The Commander of the Horizon, wanted to do anything but think.
Trey paced in his office.
He remembered the captain of his army unit when he asked who would take care of eleven-year-old Dru: “You don’t have time to worry about your brother! This planet is falling apart! Get out there, stop thinking, and fire!”
The judge after his mother had been killed: “We know what these two soldiers did to your family, but now that Jacin Jaxx changed their thoughts, they’ll never do anything like that again.”
“What a coward,” Trey sneered. “Hiding behind his judge’s robes. He didn’t care about justice. He just wanted to pretend the war casualties had never happened, like we were an embarrassment.”
Eomix Galaxy Books: Identity (Book 2 of 2) Page 8
