by Richard Fox
Hale continued, cutting her off. “And I think we’re going to have to have another sit down with Elizabeth. First it was the tenement conditions, then it was the bunkers, next she’s going to be bitching about not having any new socks. If she’s going to continue to stir the pot, we’re going to have to find a way to put an end to that. I’m all about free expression, but if it’s going to affect the overall progress of the colony, I’m not going to allow that.”
He moved past her and she fell into step beside him.
“Ken—”
“It’s bad enough original colonists are pushing back—at least I can understand their frustrations—but now it’s coming from our people as well. I just don’t—” Hale shook his head.
Marie grabbed his arm. “Ken.”
The sternness of his wife’s tone pulled him out of his rant. “Sorry, what?”
“The boys are missing.”
Hale frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She held out a data pad. “They didn’t come back to our quarters last night. I didn’t even realize it until this morning as I was in the foundries working on the fighter designs. Damn these twenty-hour days. I pinged them when I got home and they didn’t answer, so I used to colony’s security network to track them down.”
She touched the screen and a video feed, looking down at far end of the row of containers, played. At the bottom of the screen, Jerry and Elias weaved through the mass of multi-colored, truck-size containers. Valiant’s aft section was clearly visible in the distance at the top left corner of the screen. After a few seconds, the boys disappeared from view.
Hale raised an eyebrow at his wife, who held up a finger.
“Another view of the Valiant’s loading ramp,” she said, tapping the pad.
The view changed, then a second later, vanished in a snowstorm of static.
“What happened?” Hale asked.
“Your son happened.” Marie tapped on the pad a third time. “It took me a few minutes to find a camera with a good angle. It’s not great, but…”
Another camera view appeared on the pad; a shot of the starboard fuselage from a few hundred feet away. At the edge of the screen, two figures emerged from the containers, running across the open tarmac and into the Valiant’s cargo bay. The guards never even looked up.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hale muttered as the boys disappeared inside the ship. “The Valiant left hours ago. We can—”
Marie shook her head. “We can’t. There’s no way to communicate with them while they’re in FTL.”
“I’m going to kill them,” Hale said through gritted teeth. “No, first I’m going to ground them for the rest of their lives, then I’m going to kill them. They know better than that. What were they thinking?”
“Carson will protect them.”
“Carson!” Hale spat the name. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Anyone but her.”
Marie frowned at him. “She is doing good work out here, Ken. You know that. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. You can’t keep holding that over her head. At some point, you’re going to have to let it go.”
Hale sighed. “She’s managed well enough since we made the jump to Terra Nova. But she’s made bad decisions in the past that got people killed.”
“People can learn from their mistakes,” Marie said.
Hale glared at her. “Lessons learned don’t bring the dead back.” He rapped his knuckles against a railing.
“I know what you’re doing,” Marie said. “You’re debating what you’d do if you could contact the Valiant. Tell them to turn around and bring our boys back ASAP or let them continue the mission for the good of the colony.”
“There’s not a right answer,” Hale grumbled.
“Then don’t kick yourself over a decision you’re not going to make. Carson and the ship’s crew know who the boys are. They’re not going to put them in any danger…any more danger than any first contact situation. Ugh. I wish I hadn’t given up smoking.”
“Let’s keep this quiet,” Hale said. “Last thing we need is for the civilians to use this against me. Being a colonel is easier than being a governor,” he said. “Rank gives an order and you don’t get ‘but why’ from Strike Marines.”
“Quiet until the boys come back,” Marie said. “Then when I scream at them, they’ll hear me back on Earth!”
Chapter 10
Jared led the Triumvirate into the expansive arena through a corridor at ground level. A shimmering force field 300 meters above protected them from the void and gave a spectacular view of the blue-white planet. Bits of rock and stone floated above the shield, aimlessly spinning through the void.
Jared was surprised at how much the place reminded him of a sports stadium on Earth, with the exception of the blood-stained sand covering the floor. Rows of seating rose up around them, all empty now, but Jared could imagine the crowds and wondered what kinds of horrors played out on the sand that he worked beneath his boots.
Two more shuttles had arrived, each carrying freshly grown Netherguard, all fully armored and armed. The Netherguard spread out around the circumference of the stadium.
A group of Ultari were waiting in the center of the stadium, thirteen figures, dressed in clean, obviously well-kept clothes; most wore a combination of black and red leather, others wore dark robes that flowed down towards their ankles. All wore holstered weapons, either on their hips or thighs; all had an entourage of security behind them, carrying rifles. Despite Pousal’s warning, the Ultari still seemed to be trying to intimidate their new guests.
He stepped forward as Jared’s group neared, opening his mouth to speak. Without waiting for the Ultari’s words, Jared stepped aside, giving the leaders their first up-close and personal view of the Emperor. Their eyes went wide with fear. Some dropped to their knees, pressing their faces into the rough sand, while four at the front remained on their feet.
“Yes,” Kyrios said, robotic arms outstretched. “Some of you remember how to respect your emperor.”
One of the captains looked up. “Please, Holy One, forgive.”
Still standing, one of the captains turned and tried to pull another to his feet. “Get up!”
“Forgiveness is for those that deserve it,” Kyrios said. “Look at what you have allowed yourselves to become. What you have allowed my people to become. Your very weakness offends me.”
The Prince stepped forward. “This was once the pinnacle of our empire, look at it now. It’s but a shadow of its former glory. You have disgraced your empire.”
“Get up!” the Ultari shouted again, pulling harder. “Do not bow to these imposters. They are false. Look, they are the Rightly Guided’s frauds.”
The Arch Duke growled, stepping forward. “You dare speak their name?”
“I will peel your flesh from your bones,” the Prince said, pointing.
“I am Jur,” the Ultari said. “And I do not fear Regulos puppets.”
“No!” Jared yelled, but the alien was already in motion.
Three Netherguard stepped forward in a flash, moving in front of the Triumvirate, as the Ultari drew his pistol and fired. A loud twang echoed around the arena as a bullet slammed into the Netherguard, knocking it off its feet. Blood sprayed from the wound as it hit the ground, never once crying out in pain. The other two charged, bring their halberd disrupter blades down, cutting through the scrambling captains.
Screams and blood filled the air. The four standing captains were cut down in less than five seconds, their bodies shredded by the long, razor-sharp twin-bladed weapons. Jared shouted the command to halt, reinforcing it with a pulse from his armors command network that linked him to all the Netherguard.
The hybrid proccies warriors froze in place, weapons raised, ready to cut through the rest of the Ultari. They stood there like statues of death, waiting to be released to finish the executions.
Jur, who’d been the first to fall victim to the Netherguard’s attack, scrambled away from the d
eadly Netherguard, blood pumping from his wrist, now just a stump. His hand, still clutching the pistol, lay in a bloody puddle, several meters away.
“Please,” he cried. “No!”
Kyrios stepped forward, walking through the group of captains, who backed away, heads bowed. The Netherguard stood down from their attacks, standing at attention on either side of the Emperor.
“Your fear has destroyed you,” Kyrios said, stopping in front of the bleeding Ultari. “Your transgressions are many, servant. However, I am not an unmerciful god. Seek forgiveness and it shall be granted.”
Jur struggled to his knees. “I…I was wrong.”
“Good.” Kyrios placed a hand on the Ultari’s bowed head, his long fingers stretching across the alien’s entire skull. “You are forgiven.”
The Emperor crushed the Ultari’s skull with a wet crack. The alien barked a brief cry of pain, then went silent, his body going limp, hanging upright in the Emperor’s grip.
Kyrios turned back to the Ultari captains, now all on the knees, terrified eyes locked on Jur’s twitching body. “We would’ve bore witness to the rebirth of my Grand Empire, but I will not abide weakness or dissent. I require unquestioning loyalty and total—”
“Enough!”
Jared turned, seeing a new group of Ultari walking across the floor of the coliseum, led by a female dressed in shoulder pauldrons of red, scaled armor, a black leather jacket buttoned up the front, its collar folded up, black leather pants, and a pistol strapped to her thigh. Her long black hair was tied into a ponytail, and unlike the males around her, she wore no jewelry.
Her vanguard had formed a V behind their leader; all armed with large energy rifles. Ten in all, they ignored the sixty Netherguard surrounding them, eyes locked on the Triumvirate as they neared.
“Ah,” Kyrios said. “The Thareos Clan, one of the most loyal in my empire. You seem to have done well for yourself, despite your failures. The Thareos were some of my most honored warriors. Warriors who knew how to show fealty and honor.”
The female stopped several meters away, hand on her pistol, surveying the damage wrought by the Netherguard. “I owe no fealty to a dead crown. I will pay you no honor, and neither shall my captains. The true Emperor is long dead, his empire dust and ash.”
Jared frowned. This female was definitely more articulate than the rest of them, and if he had to guess, she looked more like their leader than any one of these creatures.
“Allow me to show her the way,” the Arch Duke said.
Kyrios held up a hand. “No, Cigyd, this one intrigues me. What is your name?”
“I am Captain Kailani, of the Star Breakers. The Thareos are long dead. Like our Ancestors and their Spirits.”
“You are a believer, then?”
“I believe that when our true Emperor was taken from us, the Ultari people fell into chaos. A long and deadly cycle of civil war destroyed the true Ultari while the Regulos pretenders burrowed into the home worlds. It took centuries before we stopped fighting ourselves and accepted the council. We will never bow to pretender kings again.” She kept one hand on her pistol, and Jared realized, by the way she carried herself, that she was not a person to be trifled with.
Kyrios stood silent for a moment, seeming to consider the female’s words. “You are right to be weary of false gods and those seeking to usurp my rightful throne. Your words are true; however, your understanding is not.
“Does your clan still practice the Blood Oath, Kailani? Or have you devolved so far as to forget your roots? The words of Thar, your clan patriarch?”
“You are close to blasphemy,” Kailani said, unclasping the thumb break on her holster. “I will not let you stain the sacred words.”
Two Netherguard moved to stop her, but Kyrios raised a hand, stopping them. “Thar promised his people to me hundreds of years ago. Said the words that became law. The words that bind his soul to my will. Thar’s will committed his people to the first light of the morning as it strikes the place of your birth.”
Kailani’s eyes widened. “You cannot…”
“I am the heart of the people and the savior of Thar. I am the one true Emperor, High Lord of the Ultari, God of Wrath, Ancestor’s Chosen, the Face of the Spirit, the Sword of the Triumvirate. You will submit. You will serve.” The Emperor spoke alien words that hissed and popped in Jared’s ears as he completed the ritual.
Kailani dropped to one knee, raising her chin, exposing her neck. “The words have been spoken. You are my Emperor.”
“Yes,” Kyrios said. “I am.”
Chapter 11
“Three tens,” Nunez said, grinning. “Beats that two pair you have, Moretti, and the nothing that Cherry has.”
“Don’t call me that!”
Laughing, Moretti didn’t bother waiting to see Popov’s cards. “I’ll admit, that’s a good one, Nunez, but I’m fairly certain, four of a kind beats three.”
Nunez sat stunned, mouth open as Moretti tossed his cards onto the table.
“That big enough for you, dog?” He reached forward to pull the chips in close.
Nunez moved his lips, but no words came out.
To Moretti’s right, Holloman leaned forward, pointing at Popov. “What’d you have?”
Popov held her cards up. “Well, it’s not a four of a kind, that’s for sure. But all the numbers are in a row.”
“A straight?” Moretti asked. “Four of a kind beats a straight.”
Popov laid the cards down. “Even if they’re all the same kind?”
Moretti froze, eyes locked on Popov’s cards.
Nunez clapped his hands together once and laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Birch leaned in between Holloman and Popov. “That’s called a straight flush.”
“And that’s good?” Popov asked.
“It’s the second-best hand in the game.”
Nunez threw up his hands in disgust. “Oh, come on! Stop screwing around.” He pointed at her. “You’re a ringer. I see it.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Popov asked.
“You’ve played before.”
“I never said I hadn’t,” Popov said. “You just assumed I hadn’t. I was okay with that assumption.”
“You’re a shark.”
Popov pulled a small pouch from inside her black Pathfinder overalls and started filling it with chits. “But really, all in with trips? That’s a rookie move, especially without anything else showing on the board.”
Nunez stuttered, “I—”
The hatch at the front of the bay opened and Lincoln poked his head through. “Hey, Roy, we’re getting that alarm on drive.”
Roy Torgeson, Valiant’s crew chief, looked up from the game and waved at Lincoln. “I’ll check it out.”
“Take Moretti and Nunez,” Sergeant West said, walking up to the group. “Looks like they could use some exercise.”
****
“Straight flush,” Nunez said, ducking through the hatch separating the bay and Valiant’s main corridor. “The hell kind of luck is that?”
“I kind of like her,” Holloman said.
Nunez glared at him.
“Matter of fact,” Holloman said, pausing at the hatch, “I need to hit the head. You guys go ahead, and I’ll meet you back there in a minute.”
The two Pathfinders waved him off, then continued down the corridor.
They came to Valiant’s portside stairwell and ascended the stairs to the next deck.
“You think these cyborged aliens are going to actually help us?” Nunez asked.
“No idea. But I tell you what, I’m not too excited that Hale didn’t send someone else to deal with them, other than the Chief,” the medic said.
“What’s your beef with her anyway? She seems pretty cool to me. Hell of a fighter.”
“You mean to tell me you’ve never heard about the Belisarius?”
“Yeah, course I have, so—ooooh.”
“Exactly.”
Nunez stoppe
d, frowning. “Wait, and Hale thinks it’s a good idea for her to lead another first contact mission out here in the middle of nowhere?”
Moretti snapped his fingers. “Now you’re catching on. Most anyone screws up that bad and their career ends right then and there. What did Carson do that let her hang on to her Pathfinder wings, then gave her the chance to join this mission?”
Shaking his head, Nunez turned and continued down the corridor. “Doesn’t matter. Here we are and she’s with us.”
“She screws up again and gets us all killed, then it’ll matter.”
They passed through two more hatches before coming to the engineering entrance. Nunez tapped a code into the panel beside the door and the hatch unlocked. The thrumming of Valiant’s engines seemed to penetrate to Moretti’s bones as the hatch opened. Inside, rows of thumping pistons, hissing air scrubbers, and pounding regulators created a chorus of maddening sound.
No wonder engineers are all crazy, Moretti thought.
“I still don’t understand why Greer didn’t send Lincoln back here. It’s not like we know what to look for,” Nunez said, pushing the hatch open.
Moretti shrugged. “Eh, you know pilots. Everything is an emergency, and they’re always more important than everyone else on board.”
“Well,” Nunez said, stopping on the other side. “They kind of are.”
Moretti snorted. “Why? Because they can pilot the ship?” He slapped a palm against a machine’s metal skin to his right. “These things are so advanced a three-year-old could fly them. Hell, they can fly themselves if they need to.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather have a human pilot behind the wheel than a robot any day.”
Nunez led the way down the walkway, craning his neck to look over some machines and bending over to look under others. He laughed.
Moretti climbed onto the bottom rung of the railing, lifting himself up to look down the length of the compartment. He had to duck under a hanging cluster of cables to get a good view. “What’s so funny?”
“I just don’t have any idea what I’m looking at him. Like I’m supposed to know why the motion sensors are going off.”
